Crimson with a Silver Lining
by Lady Cailan
Summary: It is six years since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort. Those other than purebloods are deemed less than human. When Ginny's daughter ends up in grave danger, Hermione sells herself to the Death Eaters to save her life. Draco/Hermione. Not fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

_A word of warning to those who might have decided to read this. It's my first Draco/Hermione fiction and I wanted to do something that was beyond Hogwarts. So yes, this is AU. It is post Hogwarts with DH disregarded. In this story, Voldermort has won and Harry is dead. The story is dark and it does contain violence and character death – but I will be sure to warn the readers in advance. I do promise some sort of payoff however. It will be mostly Draco/Hermione with some Hermione/Neville in there somewhere, but I categorize it as Dramione because ultimately they end up together. It is longer, and of course the romance will not be fluffy – but it will be there. Thanks for reading. Please let me know how I'm doing and if anyone knows of a good beta who is available, send me a PM. Thanks! _

_L Cailan_

CHAPTER ONE

Hermione Granger Weasley allowed her eyes to flutter shut for a blessed moment just as the light breeze ruffled the messy curls that framed her too thin face. She breathed in, fought with great difficulty to make herself forget where she was and everything that had happened.

She thought for a moment that if she just tried hard enough she would _believe_ she was somewhere else, that everything in the last six years had never happened. Some days it was almost easy to allow her imagination to run away from her and others, like that day, it was impossible.

She opened her brown eyes once more and sighed. The streets of eastern London were littered with trash and some alleys were lined with boxes. She knew what was in those boxes, knew how it was for wizards and witches now, living in poverty, living on the edge of death and starvation. She knew what awaited her – simply because of her status. She knew the Weasleys too faced dangers all because of her, all because of...

She looked down at her worn, thin fingers were on her left hand a dull gold ring glittered – a promise from Ron to love and cherish her all the days of their lives. Tears flooded her vision as she choked back a sob. That promise and those vows…those were the last happy moments Hermione could recall.

The way Ron had smiled when he had slipped the ring on her finger, and the taste of his mouth when she had leaned over his hospital bed, kissing him tenderly.

Had it really been five years? Five years since their wedding day and the night of his death? Had it been so long that she had not seen his smiling face and the laugh she had fallen in love with?

She stopped on the edge of the alleyway that led to the crowded apartment where she was living with the Weasleys. All of the Weasleys – at least those that had survived the Battle at Hogwarts and all the years since.

Behind her she heard Ginny's soft voice as she whispered something to her youngest daughter, Lily. Hermione waited for her two companions, her brown eyes flickering across the wide street where she saw two men dressed in the black and green robes that indicated higher Ministry rank. They wore expensive looking black cloaks and matching shiny boots. One of them had their wand out. They were talking though she could not hear what they were saying.

Too many days of this now, she knew. Men searching the streets like scavengers, looking for opposition to Voldermort's regime. Hunting down muggle borns and half bloods and all those who were sympathizers. There was no more hope now for people like herself, Hermione knew.

"I miss the Burrow mama."

Lily's tiny voice rang out in the stifling air. Ginny who had crouched down on the cement to speak with her daughter, brushed the soft hair away from her heart shaped face. Both she and Hermione were taken aback by the startling green of Lily's eyes; a green that was so much like the color of her late father's eyes.

_Oh Harry! Things should have been so different!_

Hermione did not voice her thoughts, however, for they would bring nothing but added misery to the grayness of life since Harry Potter's death. Ginny's caramel colored eyes registered a little nervousness as she noticed the two Ministry officials stop and gaze at them. Neither man moved but that didn't mean anything. Within a few moments they could be dead – all it took was a flick of a wand. Others around them had died already. The Ministry had no sympathies, had no qualms in killing, and held no conscience.

"I know you do, little one. But this is our home now."

Ginny's whisper was warm; it did not hold the fear that her eyes did.

Hermione's heart wept as she watched Ginny. Long gone was the girl that she had called a friend during their years at Hogwarts. Gone were the brilliant smile and the feisty personality. Gone even was the fiery hair which now hung limply down her back framing a face too thin and too pale to be called healthy. Hermione knew that she was the same, because they all were. Never enough food to feed everyone, always the same growling hunger that ate away at the edges of awareness so that now being hungry was simply perpetual, something that happened all the time.

"But why, mama?"

Ginny was fighting tears as she hugged her little girl to her thin body.

"I don't know, Lily."

The two officials were now crossing the street quickly and Ginny straightened Lily's tattered skirt as she kissed her forehead.

"But we must not think about that now. We must be quiet, Lily."

Her voice held fear now and as she stood, Lily dashed towards the alleyway that led to their new home, tripping over the first official and falling over his shiny boots. The collision made the little girl drop the bag that held their daily rations of food, which spilled over the sidewalk in a waterfall of oranges and apples and sandwiches.

"What where you're going, you tiny mudblood bint!"

The man was short and fat with an ugly pinched face. He kicked at Lily who began to cry and reach for her mother. Ginny busied herself with holding her little girl as Hermione dropped to the cracked sidewalk to pick up their food, lowering her head now so that there would be no unnecessary pain. This too she was used to. She had forgotten what it was like to defend herself because they had taken her wand years ago. And she had learned from experience and a nasty head wound what happened to the witches and wizards who defied Ministry officials.

She didn't dare correct them on Lily's blood status. She didn't dare speak anything at all and began placing the fruit back into the bag with shaking fingers, fighting tears that threatened her. She would not cry though. She would not give these men the pleasure. As she worked, Hermione held her breath.

_Please go away, for Merlin's sake. Leave us in peace._

But they were still there. As she reached for the last sandwich, the other official handed it to her and she noticed his hand – pale and lean with long fingers. They could have been called beautiful hands. For a moment Hermione did not take the sandwich, staring at it as if it were poisoned but then she took it, her throat dry and thick so that she could hardly utter a 'thank you'.

As his black traveling cloak rode up along his thin, white wrist she noticed the black serpentine mark there and shuddered. She had believed for a split second that there was still kindness left in the world, but apparently beautiful hands were no indication of a beautiful soul – the Dark Mark was glaring evidence of that.

_Death Eater._

Some of the Ministry officials were and others were not – but in the end it did not matter for they were all cruel and without remorse.

"_Accio!_"

The fatter official's gleeful utterance caused the bag to fly from Hermione's still shaking fingers and spill once more all over the dirty sidewalk. She did not make a sound. Sometimes she still felt the old hatred raging within her heart, but these men, this Ministry and this new world was slowly draining all the passion from her, leaving behind nothing but a husk of the young woman she had been before.

The official was laughing as if a spilled bag was the funniest thing in the world and feeling humiliated, Hermione crawled towards the street to gather the food they would have later, hoping there was still enough to salvage a good supper.

"We don't have time for this."

The voice made Hermione stop short and she noticed that Ginny, who was still clutching Lily to herself, had stopped as well. Familiarity ran through Hermione, a cold realization that she _knew_ that voice, knew it from somewhere in her past. Knew…

Without thinking she glanced up. He was tall and thin, his face pale and his nose prominent in a face that had lost much of it's fullness with time and the world wearing on it. The only thing that seemed the same were his eyes – silver, like a frozen lake in winter or the clouds just before a storm.

_Merlin's beard…_

Hermione struggled to look away from those eyes and finally he was the one that broke their connection, kicking at the empty bag a little.

"Get your stuff, mudblood and get of our streets."

His voice was cold and the sneer that formed on his lips made him look even harsher than he had. Hermione shocked by the recognition of a boy now turned man whom she had attended school with so many years ago, began to gather the food again, color flaring along her cheeks as she remembered the humiliation he had put her and her friends through during their time at Hogwarts.

_Filthy little Mudblood…_

She remembered even now how ashamed she had felt when he had called her that…that horrible name. Now it was as common as the poverty and death around them. If you weren't one of them, you were…nothing. Nothing.

Shaking fingers salvaged the sandwiches and re-bagged the bruised fruit as she struggled to see through tear stained vision.

"She's not bad, that one," said the stout official as he gave Hermione a swift kick in the rear and caused her to drop one of her oranges.

She winced. Too many times had she felt like this, like a piece of meat, something to be objectified. She knew others, her neighbors, a young woman on the same street where she was living that used her body to make money but she had not yet succumbed to such a cruel fate.

Hermione glanced up her eyes blazing with hatred. Time and the new world had demeaned her – turned her into less than a human being, left her begging, poor and hungry in the streets riddled with the dead and dying. But these men, this Ministry would not demean her further.

She defied the official with a glare. He shoved her face towards his booted feet.

"Kiss them you filthy bitch. Kiss them and tell me I'm better than you," he ordered lifting up his wand.

Hermione resisted. To her left she heard Lily's frightened voice.

"Leave 'mione alone!"

"Shut your child up, you red headed bitch!"

Ginny cradled Lily in terror, whispering to her that good children must be quiet and to listen to the man even though Hermione could hear the fear in her voice now, it was real and palpable. She turned her head to see the fat official's wand lifted up and she pulled away still resisting even though he grabbed a fistful of her curls and pulled her nearly to a standing position so that she could see his face. He was disfigured, a large scar running down the left, fleshy side of his cheek and he had tiny eyes that glittered like gems.

"Kiss me you little whore."

It was not a request but a command and even as Hermione felt her meager breakfast threatening her she swallowed and closed her eyes trembling in fear.

"Kiss me or you won't get your food and your disgusting little friends and family will go hungry, won't they?"

Tears escaped from behind Hermione's closed eyes as she shook in loathing and disgust.

"_Imperio!"_

A force beyond what Hermione could resist compelled her to take three steps forward and he smelled of cigarettes and sweat and she wanted to vomit, to retch over his shiny new boots and tell him to go to hell and leave her alone but she couldn't and-

"We don't have time for this! She's a Mudblood. Merlin knows what kind of disease _they_ carry."

It was Draco Malfoy's voice that broke through her terrified thoughts and her eyes snapped open. Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to feel relief or indignation – either way she was glad for the interruption even though Draco had already turned away from her and was pulling on the black sleeves of his companion.

"Come on," he urged, "We'll be late."

The other man laughed and let her go, spitting on her for good measure. Hermione backed away, stumbled into the empty street, trying not to cry. When she looked away from her tormentor she was met with Draco's silver eyes once more.

Their gaze was short but the recognition in those eyes was clear. He quickly nodded towards the discarded, wrinkled bag on the ground.

"Take your bag and get off our streets."

Hermione's heart was hammering with hatred, fear, and humiliation. The two officials walked off without another word leaving Hermione standing in the empty street, with Ginny and Lily cowering nearby.

Once alone Ginny stood quickly.

"Are you…ok?" she whispered. Hermione hugged her friend tightly and then hugged Lily as well to assure them both that she was. And she _was._ She had been in a worse state before – this was nothing – this was everyday.

This was life since Voldemort had taken over the Ministry. This was her future as far as Hermione could see.


	2. Chapter 2

_Firstly, I am floored at the responses thus far for this story! Wow oh wow guys, thank you! I honestly thought it was way too out there – but – wow. Thank you for the reviews and the many alerts! I'm touched. I really hope it's something you'll stick with – I'm going to do my best. I'm really friendly so any comments/suggestions/corrections are always taken into consideration – I want a two way open line of conversation between myself and my readers.__ This will be my last update until next week (I'm on vacation). But I hope it gives a little more background into Hermione's mindset. Draco next chapter – I'm already working on it. Warning – I do imply character death in this chapter._

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER TWO<p>

Hermione followed Ginny up the crumbling cement steps to the two room flat they now shared with Arthur, Percy, and George. It was cramped – beyond cramped with boxes and belongings strewn around the corners of the space and two dirty windows, one in each room.

Here they had lived for months, since the Burrow had been burned and Molly had died.

The first room served as a small kitchen with a coal stove and a table that sat four – and at night it served as the room Arthur shared with his sons. The second room was a smaller one with only a chair and several beds. Here Ginny and Hermione slept along with Lily and her two brothers – Ginny and Harry's children.

It was small, miserable and smelled perpetually of piss and sweat.

The fire that had destroyed the Weasley's home and all their possessions had only happened three months before. The Ministry of Magic had decreed that all pureblood families who were harboring muggle-born "abominations" would have to turn them into the Ministry for questioning.

When Arthur Weasley had refused to turn in his daughter-in-law, two officials had come. With a wave of their wands and a well placed _incendio_, the Burrow had been no more. And Molly had died in the fire.

The two young women were met at the door by James and Albus who immediately reached into the bag of food with eagerness and hunger. Hermione stood still, the children moving around her in the small space like a river of life as Ginny reminded them over their laugher and bickering that they needed to share, that all of them had to have some because there would be no more until the next day.

_So this is what it has come down to._

Hermione fought tears, the same tears that she had been battling with all afternoon and even more so since being attacked by the fattened Ministry official.

"Bad day, 'mione?"

George was sitting at the rickety table, his face pale around a crown of fiery red hair.

"Not the worst ever."

She moved forward, as if jolted into life by George's words. Percy sat on the other side of the table watching her over his half taped half broken glasses.

"Officials?" asked Arthur, standing to help his daughter and his grandchildren with unwrapping the sandwiches.

"Only two," replied Hermione with a sigh.

"George and I can go get our rations next time," interjected Percy.

Hermione sighed, feeling guilty.

She knew that she was the reason that the Burrow and Molly were gone – because the Weasley's loved her enough to have fought for her rights, even if Muggle-borns no longer had any. And because her wand had been taken from her, Hermione could not find decent work and so she was living with the Weasleys, eating their food and sleeping under their roof but was not contributing at all.

Guilt was the most horrid emotion in the world, she decided.

"No, I can do it."

Her words were firm.

"It's the least I can do after everything you have done for me since Ron's death."

With those words the young witch looked down at her thin fingers, her bleary vision focused on the gold ring on her left hand. It was moments like these that she missed Ron the most – moments when she felt more alone than she ever had been before. And moments of realization that she was only here and most likely still alive only because Ron had loved her enough to marry her and welcome her into his family.

_His pureblood family._

That was all that mattered now, Hermione realized.

To the outside world and to the Ministry who was trying with all their might to eradicate all those who were not of pure wizarding blood. Had it ever mattered that she had been top of her class? That she was one of the most brilliant women her age? Did compassion and understanding no longer have a place in this world? Love? Peace? Understanding? She heard the chair on the other side of the small room scrape along the wooden floor and then Arthur was at her side, holding her hand in his gently.

"You know we love you like you were one of us. And you are. You always will be."

The assurance had been one made to Hermione over and over again over the last few years, but still it felt empty. The tears came now, she felt free here. Free to cry even though tears never changed anything.

"Is it worth it to you? Losing your home, having to move here when you all loved the Burrow so much? Losing M-molly? What about all those who have died? Don't you see…if I…it's because of me! I'm here and I'm a danger to you. They won't stop, will they?"

George had gotten up.

"Look 'mione, if we don't have each other now, what do we really have?"

The words fell upon a silent room as Hermione could not find a reply and no one else spoke. The children were talking and laughing in the next room far enough away so that their words were not clear but loud enough to make Hermione's heart constrict with joy and pain. George was right – she loved the Weasleys, loved them like she had loved Ron, and if not for them, then this existence would have been unbearable. Especially with the way the world was now. She had not seen her parents in over seven years now and she did not know any longer if they even lived. And by chance if they had been spared the horrors she had been subjected to, still they would not remember their own child – Hermione had made sure of that.

The Weasley family was her family now.

She saw Ginny tenderly stroking James' hair. Hair so much like Harry's, Hermione thought with a near sob. And Albus – little Albus who was the only one with eyes the color of his mother's, though his personality was his father's. Three beautiful children, the light of Ginny's life now that Harry's had been so quickly and tragically snuffed out. Children who made their grandfather and uncles laugh. And Lily – little Lily whom Hermione loved like her own.

_At least Ginny has her children? What do I have? I don't even have a memory of Ron apart from our wedding ceremony. And then that…that…_

They had been in hiding that night, Hermione remembered. Shortly after Hogwarts had fallen to Voldemort, they had escaped, hoping to gather forces again, recoup and face that evil once more. Ron had been hurt and Hermione had done her best to bind him to make it easier on him to run – and they had. For weeks and weeks it had seemed, never in one place, never staying long.

Hermione had long forgotten what being settled meant.

They remained on the run for months and months. Ron's leg, even with Hermione's careful ministrations, would never be the same. But then, it hadn't mattered – nothing had, except staying alive. Waiting for the future had meant nothing to them – for no one knew what the next day would bring, if they would still be together, still be alive.

Harry and Ginny had married first, a short and sweet ceremony. She had already been pregnant with James then. A year later, it had been Ron and Hermione. It was the last good memory Hermione had, and she knew if not for the children that Ginny had given birth to, it would have been _her_ last good memory as well.

At least for as long as it had lasted – exactly two hours.

Then, there had been an explosion – ear deafening – and Hermione had screamed.

Behind her she had heard Ron's painful wails and through the red hot fire she saw him burning, the fire lapping along the walls and down the chairs and along the floor, burning higher and higher –it had not been a muggle made fire. Whatever and whoever was after them had found them. And Ron…well, Ron had never had a chance, really.

Hermione could still hear Harry's screams to run, but she had stumbled, stopping to find Ron, to reach for him. Ginny, crying and clutching baby James to her breast with one hand whilst reaching for Hermione with the other had begged her to move, to run. They had to run.

_He's dead, 'mione, he's dead! We have to get out of here._

Ron hadn't made it. The Death Eaters had found them, somehow – though how Hermione had never known. Ginny's words, her insistence that they run once more had seemed so pointless – for how could anyone run when there was nowhere to run _to?_

That night, Hermione had given up all hope – she had begun to believe that all would be lost eventually. With Ron's death, a part of Hermione's life had been snuffed out. She was still breathing and a broken heart still rattled within her chest, but she was dead in all other ways. And though she had never spoken of it, her fear was that soon all those around her would be like she was – dead and hopeless.

Hope held out, however. For a day, for a week, for a month. Through the birth of Harry and Ginny's second child, little Albus. And then…

_As long as Harry lives, there is hope._

Except that three years after Ron had been killed, Harry met the same fate. With Harry's death it wasn't just Ginny, then great with their third child, who had lost the will to move forward – it was all those who had put all their faith in the boy who lived.

_The boy who died._

Hermione shuddered as she stood in the doorway between the tiny kitchen and the even tinier bedroom where Ginny sat surrounded by her children. A twisting in the pit of her belly reminded Hermione that in spite of the death of both of their husbands, Ginny still had children. She still had memories and love, and Hermione hated being jealous but…it was what she felt. Amidst the guilt there were cold, sticky fingers of jealousy that bound themselves around her heart.

_I'll never have Ron's children._

An iciness crept along her body as she stood watching the two little boys and tiniest girl. How she loved them! And how she resented them!

Albus wore the remnants of the sandwich he had eaten on his white shirt.

"_Tergeo."_

Ginny's whispered word rang through the room as if was magnified.

By order of the Ministry no witch or wizard without a wand was allowed to do magic – and yet in this small way she was rebelling. Because the Weasleys had been such staunch supporters of the muggle borns, they too were under abuse from the new Ministry – and their wands had been confiscated as if they were the lowest of the low.

Hermione knew that the Improper Use of Magic office was tracking all those not pureblood – so she did not dare cast a spell. Ginny, however, seemed to take a silent satisfaction from these small acts of defiance.

Albus' shirt came clean instantly and Ginny lifted her beleaguered eyes towards Hermione. There was a pause before she spoke, her voice hoarse.

"Draco Malfoy. The other official. I never thought I'd see him again."

Her words brought Hermione's thoughts back to the present, to the altercation in the streets earlier, and to the fevered silver of Malfoy's stare.

Yes, Ginny was right.

Hermione too, never thought she'd ever see him again. Her last clear memory of Malfoy had been in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, sitting broken and bruised between his two parents as death and destruction reigned around them. A coward, just as she had always believed him to be – a filthy coward who was facing an uncertain future, plucked from his life of luxury and pampering and thrown into misery, and in some way Hermione had wished him to suffer. Suffer like they all were suffering now. How she had hoped! And yet-

He had survived. His family had remained intact. He had not lost loved ones or a wife. And now he held a cushy job within the Ministry and bore the Mark of Voldemort's closest advisors.

Hate filled Hermione, a pure, white hatred that seemed to erase all other emotion and make all others in the room disappear. She nearly shook with it. How unfair life was! How utterly and completely unfair that those who did nothing got everything and those who wanted to be something were now less than…

"Are you ok?"

Ginny's question rang out in the stifling hot room as Hermione moved towards the tiny window. She had liked to sit here sometimes to pass the time. That was until the half blood witch next door had seen her husband murdered and then had drowned her baby and hung herself. Looking out of the window now seemed nothing short of horrific.

Sighing she stared sightlessly at the dirty little courtyard that connected the flats that they were sharing with all the other "impure" witches and wizards living in London now. She managed to answer Ginny, albeit her tone was strained.

"He'll get what's coming to him. Everyone always does. This…this persecution, this…world…it can't be like this forever."

She turned just in time to gather Lily into her arms and kiss the top of her soft hair. The little girl didn't seem to pick up Hermione's panic and hopelessness, even though the two boys were watching her with worry.

"Can it?"

The question remained unanswered and somehow this was more frightening than any answer she may have received.

Just before Ginny could speak again, George walked into the already crowded room, clutching the _Prophet. _Something on his freckled face told Hermione that things had gone from bad to worse.

"What?"

"There's...something here in the paper about…shuttling all…muggle-borns into confined parts of the city. The Office of Magical Cooperation announced it this morning at a conference. It's been on the radio only we don't have one so…"

He stared at Hermione with a silent sadness.

"They say it's to clean up the city and rid it of unnecessary magical activity but you know that's all rubbish. They want…"

Hermione felt tears prickling behind her eyes as she stood, her legs slightly shaky.

"I'll go, George. I can't stay here, you all know that!" she exclaimed tearfully. "They want me, they don't want you! I've been a burden. Much too long."

Percy's voice broke into the silence.

"They're calling them alienages," he explained thoughtfully. "Walled off areas of the city just for…well the paper says…just for mud bloods and their kind, but…"

Hermione willed herself to not cry again. Walled off from the rest of London as if she had some kind of disease, as if she were an abomination to be buried and forgotten about. It didn't matter any longer than she had worked just as hard as all the pureblooded to get the best marks in school, and that she had helped Harry Potter when he had needed her the most, and that…oh so many things!

And now she was nothing.

Her heart hammered as she reached for the _Prophet._

_I am n__othing._

There was a photograph gracing the front of the paper that George held out for her. A grainy shot of what looked like dozens and dozens of weary and emaciated men and women moving – being shoved – along, some crying, some angry, all terrified…

George interrupted Hermione's horrific thoughts.

"Looks like there will be Ministry officials doing searches through the flats along downtown London within the next few weeks and weeding out-"

George was stopped when Ginny stood up abruptly stepping between Hermione and her brothers and father and taking the paper from her, tossing it aside.

"Don't you dare leave me," she whispered. "Let them come, what do we care?"

Hermione was touched as she struggled to reply, feeling the situation so heavy that she could barely wrap her mind around it.

"Ginny I can't do this to your family. Do you know what'll happen if you keep trying to hide me? Merlin's beard! Draco Malfoy knows I'm with you now, don't you think that he'll be sending one of those cronies here within days to get rid of me?"

Tears stained the depths of her chocolate colored eyes.

"I'm as good as dead."

Truly, for she had been dead a long time now.

Ginny's eyes widened with panic.

"I've lost my husband. My mother. My brother to this war, to this insanity! I can't lose you too! And my children, they…they love you!"

Her claim was reaffirmed when Albus wrapped his small arms around Hermione's bare leg.

"Don't go 'mione. You gonna stay, right?"

How could Hermione destroy someone else's hope even if her own was long gone? She crouched down to hug Albus.

"Of course I'll stay," she replied with reluctance but her brown eyes reflected uncertainty and despair.

"There might be…we have relatives somewhere, don't we?" George muttered. "Bloody knows we Weasleys multiply like rabbits."

Hermione watched him forcing a half smile, though it was nearly impossible.

"So you'd send me away? What's the point, George? You want to endanger another member of your family?"

The words were harsher than she intended and a flood of guilt washed over her. Putting her face in her hands, the young witch moaned.

"I'm sorry. I know, you're only trying to help but I-"

She turned towards the dirty window again that overlooked a drab, empty world. She felt the touch of Ginny's hand on her shoulder.

"'Mione, we won't let them hurt you. Don't lose hope. There's always hope so long as we're living, right? And we have each other."

A whisper, so soft only Hermione could hear. She nodded, trembling with fear and uncertainty.

When would they come? What would she do? Where would she go? There was a whole world out there, a world that hated her and thought her nothing. There were strangers who would hurt her, who would kill her and her family and friends just for being what they were now. It wasn't a safe place, it was frightening, lonely and harsh.

For a moment she recalled a flash of white fingers clutching a sandwich. A flash of silvery eyes. A second of kindness from a man whom she believed possessed none. She clutched Ginny's thin frame to herself, hugging her tightly as if she would never let go.

No, there was no kindness in the world – no fairness any longer. Only fear. Only uncertainty.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm touched so many of you are still reading this! Thank you once more for the reviews and the incoming alerts – it makes me want to write more. And thank you for the link to the beta readers – I'm looking for one now! Here's the next installment. Enjoy__ and as always please feel free to send me a message/comment/rant... Oh, and I forgot to post it in the beginning, but, I don't own anything in Potter Universe. That's J.K. Rowling. I'm only a fanfic writer._

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER THREE<p>

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><p>The cigarette that dropped from his fingers idly winked out in a hazy puff of smoke and he crushed it under one of his shiny black boots before kicking it aside and then entering the Ministry of Magic, his head held high. It was cold inside – cold and slightly damp and he took in a breath that was stale air and the scent of his cigarette. For a moment, all was silent. His pewter eyes flickered towards the middle of the room.<p>

_Magic is Might._

The statue stood in the center of the atrium, large and foreboding, casting wide shadows along the dark, polished wooden floor which it sat on.

_Magic is Might._

Draco Malfoy, formerly King of Slytherin House at Hogwarts turned uncertain and faltering Death Eater Ministry official within the department of Magical Law Enforcement stood staring towards the massive statue.

The moment of silence was broken.

To his right, witches and wizards departed the Ministry for London. To his left still other witches and wizards arrived to work, moving quickly and with purpose. Some were Death Eaters, some he did not know, and still others were scared and uncertain.

Those were the impure, the muggle-born sympathizers. The forgotten. These ones often came in but never left.

_Granger. _

For some reason, it was those eyes that floated along his tortured conscience. And it wasn't just because he had been shocked to recognize her as one of those denizens who crawled along the London streets like stray animals. He had been used to that – but not to the fact that suddenly he _knew_ one of them and there was a strange and unfamiliar emotion that gripped his lower belly.

_I won't feel guilt! __Silly little know-it-all Mudblood got what she finally deserved. Nothing. She deserves no sympathy. _

The thought did nothing to settle Draco's wandering mind and troubled thoughts. Because there had been something in her eyes that afternoon – something that had not only stopped him in his tracks but _shaken_ him to his core.

Pain. Despair. Humiliation. Helplessness.

_And why should I__ give a bloody damn?_

Pushing his undesirable thoughts aside, he took a step towards the massive stone structure that marked the center of the headquarters of Voldermort's Ministry. A ministry and regime that had changed everything about the way witches and wizards lived their lives. Nothing was the same anymore. Indeed, he wondered if anything would be the same again ever.

He stared once more at the structure wearing a look of dispassion. No more Fountain of Magical Brethren. No more unity between wizard folk and elves and centaurs and goblins – now nothing mattered but those with purest blood. These would rule all others, these would wield power over the weaker ones, the ones who knew no magic, ones who were not pure in blood and pure in character. Goblins were beneath them, mere creatures who only _thought_ themselves intelligent. Elves, too, nothing more than creature-like slaves, though soon enough those Mudbloods would be just as low, not worthy to even wipe the boots of those of pure blood.

A sneer formed on his pale face.

This was his father's world. This was Voldermort's dream realized. This was chaos and darkness. He stared at the massive statue.

Depicted in perpetual form were those of pure blood crushing beneath their feet all those less worthy, all those different than them. At the base of the pewter structure he read the words once again.

_Magic is Might._

It was true – those who were pure of blood were mightier than all others. Now, there would be no question of who ruled the wizarding world. No more muggle borns. No more silly little champions for equality. Soon there would only be a world of wizards and witches of superior birth and talent.

A perfect world. Utopia.

Shuddering, Draco turned from the ugly statue and lowered his head.

_Then why am I afraid?_

He did not panic, even though his first instinct was to whimper. Sometimes, even now, these moments happened – these moments of weakness. He blamed them not on himself and his uncertainty but on the fact that he had still been young when the Ministry had fallen to Voldemort. It was different now. Draco was older and wiser – he understood. Maybe.

He stalked along the polished floors of the atrium and stopped at the far side, beneath the blue ceilings. The watchwizard gave him a bleary stare.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Messages for me?"

His words were harsh, clipped. The older wizard searched too slowly.

"I…I don't believe so, sir."

"You don't believe so? Or you don't _know?"_

Bullying. It was childish and petty but it gave Draco a sense of control. And with control came domination. With control came a sense of calm. If they feared you, you controlled them.

If they feared you, they would not see your own fear.

The watchwizard, clearly frazzled, began to search through the messages at the front desk with trembling fingers and after a moment or two he looked up.

"No, nothing…sir."

Draco spun on the heels of his well made boots and then stalked off towards the lifts without another word. His hands were like ice.

Control.

The lift took him down. It was colder here. Colder the lower one went.

"Now arriving…level two…Magical Law Enforcement-"

He shoved away from the lift walking briskly down the hallway towards his own office the voice of the welcome witch fading behind him. He was alone now.

Control.

In the distance, Draco suddenly heard the muffled sounds of screams. Scream just like-

He pushed the door to his office open roughly and then slammed it shut, before sinking into his chair with a groan. There were notes strewn about on the surface of his work desk. There were notes, memos, and reminders. He ignored them all, closing his burning eyes.

_I won't think of it. I won't think of home. I won't think of her._

Sometimes, maintaining control wasn't easy. Sometimes, it was downright bloody _impossible._

In the adult world, Draco had found that he had no one to bully, no one to single out and hinge on to maintain his control. He knew that in this world he was no longer King. In this world he was just a minion – and only his blood status had saved him from the dreary oblivion that awaited all those others who were not so lucky.

_And why shouldn't I be one of the lucky ones? I'm a Malfoy! _

Here he was, sitting in his own office, with his own job, money coming in, a four bedroom home on the posh side of London, a proper wife, everything that his father had told him he would have, and more. He thought about his near perfect life simply because it kept the steadily growing panic that crept around the edges of his conscience at bay. Closer and closer it crept, and it slowly erased the control he had taught himself always to maintain.

Suddenly, however, it was no longer possible to _not_ think of all those things he did not want to think _about_. And the memory of Hermione Granger's tear stained, sad eyes flooded his mind's eye.

"Bloody hell!"

He stood up, throwing himself across the room, his long fingers grabbing hold of the window sill and clamping down tight, so tight that his knuckles were as white as bone.

Stupid little bint. Filthy Mudblood. Nasty little know-it-all. He hated her for even making him feel a fraction of guilt for everything that he had done so far. She didn't know the things he had done, oh no, but still, in some way those eyes…

Those eyes had gazed into his with accusation, with blame. Eyes filled with tears so that it was as if they were swimming. Eyes that at one time had sparkled, he was sure. Not that he had ever taken the time to watch her in school. He had hated her then, stupid girl with her stupid friends. Thinking she was better than he was just because she was smart. Well, he had shown her, they had _all_ shown her, hadn't they? In this new world, she didn't belong. She was nothing. Less than nothing. She was-

_Such knowing__ eyes…_

No. He wouldn't think of her. He wouldn't think of the fact that with that one glance she had made him lose all his well maintained control. Damn bloody bitch.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Stood there for a moment, just breathing in the silence.

Control.

Another breath.

_Control._

Another breath and his heart began to slow.

Control.

_Imperio._

Control.

_Crucio._

He stared blankly out of the window at the grayness outside. How many times had those words left his lips, had his wand done such damage? Impossible to believe that he would ever have found his way here, wasn't it? Amazingly what had once been illegal, unforgivable was now a way of life.

A way of control.

Draco hung his head.

Bitterness replaced the rage and guilt. Bitterness. His father had never found him good enough. He had never been good enough. The Dark Lord had tested him and he had failed as illustrated by his inability to kill Albus Dumbledore. They had laughed at him when he had run. He remembered – Fenrir, those horrid looking twins that had taken over Hogwarts…even Snape had looked slightly disturbed at his lack of bravery.

_I should have killed Dumbledore._

Had he made up for those past failings? Now that he was where he was?

_Am I still that coward?_

Draco hardly stopped to consider his emotions – there was no room in this new life for such things. Anger, guilt, love, resentment, all of it was rubbish. He did what he had to. He did what was expected of him. He fought for a cause his father had fought for. He did not think on the past, on the losses, on the loneliness, the horror. He did not-

There were stirrings outside, a fight between one of the ranking officials and a short little dirty wizard. There were yells. The official fell to his side. There was a flash of green.

_Avada Kedavra._

It was over. The body of the little wizard lay still. He turned from the window, somehow unable to gaze on the scene any longer even though it was one he had seen over and over again. How many people now? Innumerable.

His wand lay on top of his cluttered desk and Draco stared at it without moving. That wand had caused pain and anguish. Had been used for control and manipulation. Death. A strange sick feeling washed over him, oily and thick. And then Granger's eyes. Damn it all with those stupid eyes!

As he stared a hatred seemed to form within him bubbling up from one of the darkest corners of his soul replacing the guilt and the helplessness he was feeling. It fed the growing panic and Draco began to unconsciously rub the palms of his hands along his trousers, at first slowly and then faster….faster.

_I should have killed her when I had the chance. They would have thanked me, the Ministry, Voldemort, all of them. For getting rid of another piece of wizarding filth. Sho__uld have killed her. Should have… -_

He couldn't breathe- suddenly- the panic choking him, making the room spin, causing him to go weak at the knees and his mind was whirling out of control so that he nearly jumped a foot when the door to his office opened.

"Sod it all!" he exclaimed flipping around abruptly, his gray eyes widening and his heart hammering wildly.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood framed by the doorway, her own dark eyes wide with curiosity.

"Are you all right nephew?"

Her tone was like ice, holding no concern whatsoever. Draco's raging heart slowed as he swallowed to speak. He nodded without speaking.

Control.

"Fine."

He stared at his aunt carefully. It was quite ironic, that this woman and her husband were now the only close family Draco had. And it was a long shot calling either of them family for there was nothing familial about them. Sadistic bitch and sadistic husband. Laughable. She was now Voldemort's right hand and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and therefore she was also Draco's boss. Aunt and boss. Woman and murderess. Evil personified in human flesh.

His eyes dropped from hers, for Bellatrix had an uncanny way of reading minds sometimes – and the last thing he wanted was for her to know that he was-

"You seem different."

Her tone held a hint of glee and her eyes brightened for a moment.

Too late, he supposed.

"Different how?"

Even his own voice sounded strange and faraway in ears that were still ringing with panic.

"I do not know. Perhaps you could tell me."

There was a smirk on her full lips when he dared to look up at her for a moment, and a twisted glimmer in her eyes. She could have been a pretty woman he supposed. A long, long time ago…before evil had destroyed her inside and out. Though Draco couldn't remember her that way.

"I told you, I am fine."

A cold silence fell upon them and finally she let out a harsh laugh.

"Very well then. Have you gotten the post about the alienages to be set up for the growing numbers of mudbloods and blood traitors that keep infesting our city?"

Draco sank down behind his desk, watching his aunt expressionlessly.

"Only just now."

His reply was punctuated by the lift of the hand held the small missive with the M. o. M. letterhead. Bellatrix sneered.

"Well then, child, have you considered _where_ and _when _we ought to start searching and smoking out all that disgusting magical filth? You still manage the Hit Wizards, do you not? Or do you get paid to sit there and look only _half_ as pretty as your father always did?"

Her blatant mockery of him made Draco see brilliant red but he remained seated. He believed her wrath was better suited at others and not himself – and suddenly-

Granger. Granger lying at Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix above her, wand pointed at her face, and Granger was screaming…screaming…

Never again did he want to hear screams like those. Never again.

_I won't think of those bloody screams._

Draco tried to push those memories out of his mind desperately. He had felt so helpless in the midst of that screaming, so lost.

"I was going to get a cup of coffee and then get down to business."

He hoped his own voice did not betray him.

"The business of staring out of the window?"

Her voice held contempt and impatience and this time…this time Draco nearly _did_ get up and smack her across the face. He almost felt the satisfactory smack and the way her face would have registered shock. It would almost have been worth the consequences.

Still, he sat.

"Do let me know when you finally start working. The sooner the better."

She left then, but the echo of her mockery remained with him. Draco felt his fingers tightening on the pen he now held and his vision blurred as he tried to read the missive that had come directly from Voldemort. Two hours later, still unable to fully concentrate, Draco stood and returned to the window. The little wizard still lay where he had fallen, like a piece of trash that no one would notice or take the time to dispose of. He turned and walked stiffly out of his office and down the empty hallway the way he had come earlier, and to the lift. The annoying welcome witch droned in his ear as he moved lower and lower, growing colder and colder so that he thought he might freeze.

The Wizengamot had begun to use dementors to control any who came down to these lowest regions of the Ministry, but since Voldemort's victory their numbers had doubled…even tripled. They lined the hallways here, floating in midair, watching him…watching him.

Two court scribes hurried past him and then he was alone.

His teeth chattered and kept his head down as he moved swiftly not having forgotten than if he drew the attention of these blasted creatures he would be in deep trouble. Draco had not yet mastered the art of the Patronus.

_Bloody Patronus. _

Then he heard the screams again – terror-stricken and full of pain. Helpless, hopeless screaming of those receiving the Kiss. Of those already too far gone. Of those who knew what was coming.

An Interrogator rushed past, his head held high, avoiding Draco's gaze.

He stood alone in that hallway wondering when it would all stop – _if_- it would stop.

_Magic is Might._

He needed to remember that, to focus on _that. _Everything was happening for a reason. It didn't matter that sometimes the madness made no sense. The screams were too poignant, too much like hers, too much like those screams that night at the Mansion, like Granger-

Viciously, Draco reached out, yanking on the robes of a Ministry messenger, someone lower in rank than himself, someone whom he didn't know or care to know the name of.

"Get Bellatrix Lestrange. I need to speak with her."

The words were harsh.

"Tell her I want to meet with her about the mudblood alienages we discussed earlier. It's important."

He watched the wizard hurry off towards the lifts but he himself could not move quite yet. He wondered if he would always remain frozen.


	4. Chapter 4

_When the muse strikes, I like to take advantage of it. Here's the next installment. Part of Draco's flashback comes from Rowling's Deathly Hallows – just a disclaimer. Warning – some minor violence in this chappie. Oh, and thank you guys so much for reading, altering and reviewing! Hugs._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FOUR<p>

* * *

><p><em>-Three weeks later-<em>

Hermione's nights since leaving Hogwarts had been little more than a rough collage of nightmares. She had spent nights dreaming of her parents, their faces sad and confused. There had been Ron's infectious laughter and then the screams for help while the fire had burned around him and he had been immobile, unable to help himself. Even Harry had sometimes made an appearance though all she could recall now was his screams, the last real memories Hermione would ever have of him. Those nightmares were also made up of slitted reptilian eyes – eyes she would never forget. The eyes of a soulless wizard who had taken the lives of her friend and husband, her family, her mentors, a wizard who had stolen her whole life. All she knew now was pain. The pain of loss, of confusion, of hopes and dreams that would never come to fruition.

No, Hermione was no stranger to nightmares; they were like a kaleidoscope made up of all the colors of her fears; a horrid scrapbook of snapshots throughout the years, each one more frightening than the last. It was ironic then, that _they_ finally came for her while she was asleep and not dreaming at all.

"_Confringo!"_

The doors to the crowded flat were blown open in a terrible explosion, pieces falling here and there, and three of _them _rushing in, holding their wands aloft. It was hot, steaming hot. Hermione was rattled awake and jumped up, pushing sweaty, russet hued curls out of her sticky face. She had only a moment to gaze into Lily's terrified eyes before they rushed into the room and turned on the overhead lamp throwing harsh, white color into the horrific nightmare. She stared, mouth hanging open, heart pounding viciously. Except that it _wasn't _a nightmare any longer. They were there – how many of them? Two? No, three. She was confused and scared. Hermione couldn't recall the last time she had been this scared.

"Get up!"

One of them, the speaker, was so scarred she couldn't tell what he looked like, and the others tore the two boys from Ginny's arms and shoved them against the crumbling plaster walls of the bedroom. Hermione refused to allow them to touch her and she managed to get to her feet, lifting Lily with her and clinging to the tiny child who was trembling underneath her thin undershirt.

"Mamma!"

It was Albus' terror colored voice that finally brought Hermione's tears, and she put her hands over Lily's ears and cradled her away from her older brother so that the child wouldn't look, wouldn't hear the strained sobs as the another one of _them_ whacked the boy over the head with what looked like a thin walking stick. It made a sickening crack and Albus crumpled to the floor with a whimper.

"Anyone else want to cry?"

The question was nasty and it implied pain. Hermione prayed silently that Lily not cry and her wide brown eyes locked with Ginny's across the room. Her friend was holding her oldest boy, but the reflection in her eyes broke Hermione's heart. To watch your own child suffer had to be the most difficult thing in the world. From this, at least, Hermione had been spared. She could not comprehend the pain that Ginny was silently enduring.

"Go!"

They were shoved violently from the room, the two women clinging to the children and Hermione nearly ran into Arthur who soothed her even though it was clear they had done a number on him from the bruise that was rising up along his thin weathered face. Still his eyes seemed calm.

Lily was crying softly and with a renewed bout of terror, Hermione kissed the top of her soft hair. She smelled sweet – like sugar and sunshine – like a child. She breathed in her calming scent, kissing her again.

"Shhh…my darling. We mustn't cry. We can't cry, all right? Everything will be just fine, you'll see."

But she didn't believe her own words and could only hope that Lily was too young to tell. The Ministry officials lined them up in the decimated remains of their front room and one of them cast a binding charm on the men so that they could not move.

"Weasleys, eh? Blood traitors."

The words were punctuated with kicks to Percy and George's shins which made James cry out.

"Let them alone!"

His eyes were bright green in the dim lighting of the broken lamp and his face was a long ago reflection of Harry's, which made Hermione's heart twitch with joy and break into a thousand pieces all in one poignant moment.

They knocked into him, pushing him and tripping him so that the little boy fell. Still he let out no cry, only getting to his feet defiantly. James was the oldest and he had always understood the most. He knew why his father had died and he knew what had gone wrong. Perhaps not _understood_, but knew the way a young child would.

The one with the scarred face yanked Ginny by her long red hair.

"Bitch, tell your child to bloody shut his trap or I'll do it for'im!"

Hermione wanted to cry out and she was ashamed that her own growing fear made any words fade in her sticky hot throat. Ginny's eyes spilled over as she lost all color and groaned from the pain of the sharp tug.

"James…J-james, please, you must…must be quiet."

Her words were wracked with fear and pain and she reached to hold her confused and angry son in shaking arms.

In the other room Albus stirred and then looked up at the others with wide, fear filled eyes, his voice ringing out in the room, crying for his momma. Hermione could see him struggling to get to his feet although with such a hit on the head she wondered how he even _could_ and if he would suffer irreparable damage from such abuse. Her tears rolled down her face in silence as she clung to Lily. They were both sweating now from the oppressive heat, and Hermione felt icy cold from the fear that threatened her. She could only breathe in the scent of Lily's hair and the soured smell of her own sweat.

"Mamma!"

Albus was rooted to the spot in the far room, the trembles of fear wracking his tiny body.

"Mamma!"

Ginny, terrified, cried out to him.

"Albie, baby it's going to be fine."

"Mamma!"

Once more that cry echoed in their ears and George struggled against his magical bonds, his eyes flashing with hatred at their captors. The three men in Ministry cloaks laughed amongst each other and one of them turned towards Albus. Hermione wasn't sure if it was that or if it was the unfairness of it all, but she suddenly found her voice.

"Leave him alone! I'm the one you want!"

Her shriek stopped them in their tracks, and the scarred one turned, a leer on his face.

"Is that right?"

Hermione's heart hammered as she swallowed, praying she had enough saliva to make the next words clear.

"Leave him alone. I'll go. Let these others go."

They laughed at her, and the one who had spoken first moved to the other room, towards Albus who stared back in sheer terror. Something inside Hermione snapped at the movement and she quickly handed Lily down to Ginny and rushed at the Ministry official with determination.

"Don't touch him!"

Her words were jerked a bit when her fist connected with his back, and just as she thought she had a grip on the coat, on something of his to keep him from hurting Albus further, she felt herself being flung back with violence, falling onto the hard ground with a strange choking sound. Pain ripped through her side and she tasted blood where her teeth had bitten into her tongue with the impact of her body against the ground.

The official sneered at her, pointing his wand.

"Stupid mudblood bitch."

Hermione prayed for death – even if it was a selfish prayer.

"_Crucio._"

* * *

><p>That scream again - Draco heard it in the stillness of the night which had until that moment only been shattered by his Hit Squad. Others had gone this way already - they had ransacked several other known mudblood slums in the last three weeks and each time the reactions were the same - indignation, anger, and then finally the breaking. The tears and the begging. None of them lasted too long, none of his squad ever had to actually <em>hurt <em>someone, though Merlin knew none of them gave a damn whether they did so or not. In fact, most of them lived for the sport - they loved torturing and hurting.

After all, these were dirty bloods - they didn't matter any more.

The pain of others had hardly ever affected Draco in the past; it was still the same now, he simply had taught himself many years before to not care. When that had changed, he did not know.

_If it's changed. I don't even know if it's changed or if its just _her.

He was standing outside the cluster of cramped and seedy flats - all run down with peeling pain and crumbling walkways and stairs - and he knew that she was there. Granger. And once again, just like it were yesterday, he heard those same plaintive screams - as if his thoughts had conjured her pain.

Her screams had never truly died in the banks of his memories and his nightmares had kept them alive all these years. The night in Malfoy Mansion had been replayed so often in Draco's mind it was like a worn movie, a reel that skipped and jumped but was vividly and horribly still whole in his mind. There were certain things, moments in his life Draco would never forget.

The way he had felt when Voldemort had taken up residence inside the only place he had ever called home, destroying what had already been weak and uncertain familial bonds.

The expression on his father's face each time Voldemort had deemed pay him attention – Draco had never up until those moments seen his father cower in fear.

And of course – her screams.

Draco had known it was them when the Snatchers had brought them to the Mansion – he had known from the moment that Potter had been dragged into the room, and therefore logically it calculated that the two with him were Granger and Weasley.

_I knew it was them. Why did I lie?_

His fists were clenched as he looked up through the hazy darkness at the single light in the rundown flat.

He recalled the looks on their faces; Potter's defiant glare and Ron's terror – but it was Granger's eyes he remembered the most. The fear had not outweighed her desire to defy him. To defy all of them. Even the thought of that night filled him with sickening dread. His father's hunger had been palpable, Bellatrix's bloodlust evident. His mother had been cold. And Draco himself?

_I hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore. I couldn't have just turned them over to die like that, could I? How could anyone?_

He was afraid, however, that the others would have disagreed – many would have done what he could not have. Memories assaulted him.

"_Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"_

He had been fearful.

"_I don't know."_

A lie. A bloody lie.

"_Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback. All except….except the Mudblood."_

He had been rooted in his place by a blazing fire that added no light to the shadowy room. Bellatrix's voice had horrific implications. Weasley had screamed. But it was nothing compared to the long, drawn out cries of the tortured girl.

"_I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? WHERE?"_

In that moment Draco had been unable to turn, to face the scene with Granger and his Aunt, afraid of what his face would have revealed. No one in the room had spoken, and the only sound was that awful, piercing scream…

"_You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it. You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, __**tell the truth!**__"_

He had winced. Winced but remained statue still, avoiding the sound of his mother's voice to come join her, and ignoring all other sounds in the room, hearing only her screams.

"_What else did you take, what else? _ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!"_

He had fought to keep the trembling inside of him at bay and his eyes had watered as the torture continued, as he listened to her sobbing and whimpering and crying out in pain that he could not understand – had never experienced. He had wanted to turn around, to tell Bellatrix to stop, to leave her alone. To scream at Granger too, telling her to give in so the madness would stop. And from downstairs he had heard Weasley's sobbing. He recalled wishing that he too, could sob. It had been impossible to fathom such pain and to have to listen to it – when it had finally been over, the room silent, Granger's breathing hitched – they had insisted he go to get the disgusting looking goblin from the lower cellars where they had shoved all their prisoners. Where Potter and Weasley were, and Draco had been afraid. Afraid to see Granger and lay eyes on Weasley.

She had barely been stirring then – gray and ashen from the strain on her body. As if dead. He had gone to the cellars to fetch the goblin and his eyes had never met those of the other two boys. And in the end when Bellatrix had allowed Greyback to dispose of Granger he had wanted to help her – to soothe her pain even if it was only a fraction of relief. But he hadn't. Fear had stopped him.

_Why had she needed to be so bloody stubborn? So loyal to her stupid friends – so willing to sacrifice he__r own life for theirs? Merlin's beard virtuous people make me sick!_

"Malfoy!"

The voice called down to him in the midnight heat breaking into his troubled thoughts.

"There's trouble here!"

His eyes flickered up to the broken cement steps and he took them one by one, heavily moving towards the entrance to the flat.

* * *

><p>Hermione cradled her throbbing, sweaty face in the palms of her trembling hands, her messy curls obscuring her vision. She bit her lip to keep from crying out more than she already had – although she had fought valiantly against the pain of the cruciatus curse inflicted on her. She had crumbled into the corner of the decimated room, whimpering and sobbing, scurrying and crawling back like some kind of insignificant insect. There she sat, trembling – waiting for what was next. Why did they not kill her? Why not just do what they had come from? Why put the rest of her family through this unnecessary pain?<p>

But of course, in this world, nothing made sense anymore.

She could hear Arthur and his sons struggling against their bonds and Ginny whispering to James and Albus. Then there were footsteps and more of them came into the room though she hardly had strength to lift her head.

"What happened here?"

She knew it was Malfoy's voice that spoke those words – they were cold and unemotional.

"I asked you to bring them down to the carts, not to make a fucking mess!"

The words were punctuated by the sound of his kicking around the remnants of what had been the Weasley's only possessions now gone like everything else that was slowly being destroyed in this new world.

"Get up!"

Hermione could not move, however. She heard Ginny's moans as she managed to stand, keeping her children close to her. There was the shuffling as she moved through the mess on the floor. Hermione, pain ringing through every inch of her, was helplessly sprawled in that same place in the dusty corner.

"Weasleys?"

Draco's questioning was not answered and in the tense silence Hermione dared to glance up for a second. He stood there, wand raised at her family, his face a pale visage within which glowed too bright eyes and a cold sneer. He began to walk past them, glaring at each one for a few silent seconds and then snorted.

"Always too many of you blood traitors left. Shame that pureblood families would lower themselves to protecting those who are nothing."

Malfoy moved past the men and then stopped nearest to where Ginny stood. One of the other ones spoke.

"The boys are strong, Mr. Malfoy. We could send them to Azkaban. They are always looking for strong children there."

Ginny whimpered at the sound of the scarred man's voice for it seemed that he was positively bursting with anticipation. Hermione could only imagine what horrors waited for those send to Azkaban _now._ The thought made her want to weep outright, but she did not even have the strength to muster tears. The three Ministry officials with Malfoy began to pull the two boys away from their mother and Hermione wished she was deafened so she wouldn't have to hear their cries of terror. Even James had broken now.

"The girl?"

Lily stared up at the officials, green eyes wide but she remained blessedly silent.

"She is too young to go to Azkaban, eh? And she is a wee thing that. No use for her. She should get the Kiss – that'll get rid of her all right."

The other two unnamed men tittered at this and Lily buried her face against her mother's breast. Hermione struggled then, moved a little, moved forward with the strength she had left.

"Wait, that's – no. She's…she's old enough. She…"

Hermione had no clue what these abominations believed was the right age, and what children were _made _to do but she felt the need to help in some way.

"She's…she's six!"

The lie was out of her mouth before she could take it back, but thankfully no one said anything – not giving away Lily's true age. The man nearest them snorted in nasty laughter.

"Six? Bloody arse. She looks barely four. I say give her to the dementors. Short work that will be."

Ginny began to openly cry and Hermione stumbled to help her friend. The little boys had already been dragged out into the night along with the men, leaving the two women and Lily in the room alone with the Ministry officials. It was hot and oppressive and stunk of fear and sweat.

"She is six!"

But now Hermione's voice was weaker, trembling. There was a silence and then Malfoy spoke, watching Lily closely.

"Send her down with her mother. She is old enough then."

The three officials glared at Malfoy but none dared to go against him and then Hermione found herself staring up into his pale, tight face. She flashed back to the moment in the street, his white hands helping her with her sandwiches. Again this strange kindness that she had not expected.

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"Get up."

The order was cold and as hard as she tried, Hermione couldn't muster the strength needed in her legs to do any good. She tried and then crumbled twice before lowering her head in defeat.

His grip on her thin upper arm was firm and sure.

"Mudblood. All this to protect you?"

His words held disdained disbelief, and when she was able to stand without his assistance, Hermione yanked away from his touch and the words that followed her actions sickened her. They were too close and Hermione could smell him – cigarettes and the musky scent of night heat.

"I am a Mudblood. And I'm the one you want not them! Let them go, Malfoy!"

There was that defiance once more, the defiance he had seen the night at the Mansion. The defiance that seemed to shine in the depths of despair ridden cinnamon eyes. Her flushed and sweaty face was colored with fear and anger, and he chose to ignore her, lowering his eyes for a moment.

"Being a blood traitor is just as great a sin."

He pushed her with his wand, ordered her to move and Hermione began to stumble from the tiny stale room towards the exit. She was dizzy with grief and pain and the fact that she had lowered herself to using the term 'mudblood' when she had sworn to never succumb to that title, to the belief that she was less than he was.

They stared at one another in that oppressive silence, neither speaking. In spite of her hopeless situation, the fact that her life hung in the balance she would not break. She continued to stare at him, and in some way, he found her to be glorious amidst such adversity.

"Move."

She defied his order, her only movement being the hitch of her breathing.

"Let them go, and I will do as you say."

Something in her words angered him and Draco reached out to yank her forward, so that she was helpless to do anything but stare up at him.

"Are you stupid? Or just deaf?"

His words were an ominous hiss and his eyes glittered as he narrowed them. He gave her a gentle shove towards the door that led outside and then raised his wand.

"Do you not understand that I have the power to have Potter's offspring destroyed? The power to kill you as you stand there?"

He turned from her and Hermione wondered what had just come over him.

"Lily is only a child…they're all just children. Innocent children."

Her words were a plaintive sob and Draco whirled on her in his anger.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Granger?"

Her name. He had used her name.

"I know she's a child! I send her downstairs with her mother. Now move! Move before I change my mind!"

His face was white, and his eyes showed no mercy and suddenly Hermione was afraid. Quickly she moved down the crumbling stairs towards the carts that waited in the musky darkness where she would be just one amongst the many lost and confused. She could only hope that Draco Malfoy would not change his mind – that he had kept Lily alive and did not plan on hurting her. It was all she could hope for now.


	5. Chapter 5

_I am, as always, thrilled that you are all still following and reading.__ I welcome all the new alerters and thank you for all the reviews. It's hot here – nothing to do but write, so here's the next installment. I admit I don't closely follow what happened to the Death Eaters, so for the sake of this tale, most of them are still around. I've given some names to the ones who have appeared in previous chapters. Let me know how I'm doing, guys! I love interaction and all of you so far have been lovely! _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER FIVE<p>

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><p>There were four carts that took them away from the flats and through a darkened London. They were crowded and overstuffed, and all one could smell was the stink of sweat and the unwashed. They sat on hard wooden planks, and the rocking movement of the carts did nothing to soothe any of the occupants. At the front of each of the carts sat one of the Ministry officials.<p>

Hermione glared at the back of Draco Malfoy's head hatefully, and she found herself believing in that moment that she would forever abhor any man or woman who wore the black and white uniform with the M. o. M. insignia on it. Finally, she hung her head, clutching Lily tightly. Ginny sat in between her terrified sons. Arthur, George and Percy had been shoved onto the cart behind them, lead by the scarred official.

They took the back streets through seedy downtown London and Hermione could hear bits of Malfoy's discussion about bringing in the Obliviators and the Magical Reversal Squad to clean up any remnants of damage that had been done at the flats. She found it ironic that the Ministry was quite fearful of being seen by the same race of people that they hated.

At first Hermione strained to catch any bit of conversation that would help her find out exactly where they were going – but in the end she gave up trying. She was fearful that no matter where they were going, it would be worse for her in the end.

_What's worse than what I've already been through?_

She simply did not want to know the answer to that question.

After she gave up on trying to eavesdrop, Hermione curled up against Ginny and held Lily tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of the tiny girl's reddish brown hair. She took great comfort when Albus slipped his small hand into hers, and Hermione wondered if the love of family had ever felt this saving. She would never again take it for granted. Back and forth she rocked on that cart and even though it was uncomfortable and her whole body hurt, after awhile she was lulled into a thoughtless, listless existence.

The trip could not have taken more than an hour's time, even though to Hermione it seemed like days had gone by. Behind the mostly dark buildings she could see the glimmer of the moon along the Thames. She could barely move when the carts finally stopped and she looked around, wondering at the location.

In front of her, the run down street was lined with massive storehouses, but behind them she could still see the river. Had they gone east or west? Were they north of south of the river? All around her everyone was standing and moving woodenly, and the Ministry wizards took no greater care now than they had earlier – shoving and prodding as if the wizards in question were not human but animals. She watched with despair as Arthur stumbled, fell and received a sharp rap to the back of his head for it. Ahead of her she watched Malfoy as he gave orders quickly and with the haughtiness that she remembered from the past.

_He hasn't changed._

When the crowd of people pressed against them, Hermione felt herself being pushed along the dusty path towards the storehouses, as she clung to Ginny's worn shirt tightly so not to lose her and the children. She could see the red hair of the Weasley men ahead of her like beacons in the darkness. The storehouses had a sort of courtyard from what Hermione could see by the moonlight, and here they were ushered into groups. Some were being loaded into more vehicles to be taken Merlin knows where. Others were shoveled into the buildings ahead.

She felt a sudden drop in temperature, and her fingertips grew icy cold. It was then that she saw them, floating above the buildings like large black wisps.

_Dementors._

At first Hermione believed that they stood like sentinels, watching over all those unlucky enough to have been brought here. She wondered if this was what being in Azkaban was like. But the closer she looked, the more grave the reality that settled over her. The raspy voice of the scarred official washed over her, and in that moment the implications of his words were made a very terrifying reality - the dementors were also a quick means with which to get rid of the surplus of people whom were being shoved into the storehouses.

Her heart stopped beating for a moment as she wondered how they chose who would live and who would receive the Kiss. Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the dim light that night, but Hermione had trouble seeing the moving dark shadows around her to see who was going where. Was she next? Were the dementors giving their kiss to all those who were not pureblood? She had nothing to live for anymore, and yet Hermione was not quite ready to give up her life. She craned her neck, willing the waves of her panic to settle. One thing was for certain; she would not allow them to take the children - no matter what.

They stopped when they saw that Arthur and the boys had been careened out of the way and were standing in the shadows of the building talking to one of the officials.

"-because they call themselves purebloods?"

Hermione could only catch the last few moments of the conversation before it died on the hot night air. It looked as if the two men working under Draco Malfoy's orders were arguing with him and he was regarding them coldly, his face a mask which most likely hid his true feelings. If he had any, that was.

He stood rigid, facing the other two men his hands down at his sides in loose fists.

"And I told you both already, these are _mudblood _alienages, and as far as I am concerned there has been no word about what we are to do with blood traitors. I'm treading a slippery slope and I'd rather err on the side of caution. And I resent being questioned about my decisions!"

Hermione watched, heart hammering, as he turned to the Weasley men.

"I don't care where you send them. Send them to Azkaban. We don't have room here."

Malfoy finished speaking, and Hermione watched as he turned to face Ginny and her children, a sneer forming on his face in those few seconds.

"Get in line with your father and brothers. Take your brats with you."

His words were mottled with disdain.

Hermione realized suddenly, that she was going to be left all alone – her only family, the last bit of hope and sanity she had left was being stripped from her and Malfoy's slivery gaze confirmed her unspoken fears.

"The Mudblood stays."

She felt the world beneath her feet spin violently - she was afraid she would humiliate herself further by fainting. But somehow, Hermione managed to maintain her faculties, though she felt the remaining color draining from her face even as her eyes filled with sudden, hot tears.

Two of the officials dragged Arthur, George and Percy towards a line forming near what looked like a Muggle bus but was certainly something magical, and when Ginny hesitated, Draco prodded her roughly with his wand.

"Don't waste my time, Weasley."

Hermione was too overwhelmed by her sudden loss to be able to speak anything at all, and she could see Ginny's tears glittering under the bright moonlight. In that moment, Hermione's only response was her own tears.

The two women reached out and Ginny clasped her hand around Hermione's, squeezing tightly. Time became irrelevant, and under Malfoy's leer, Hermione felt herself being pulled into Ginny's embrace and held for what would most likely be the last time. Her eyes closed and she willed that moment to last forever, even though she knew that it was impossible.

"'Mione, you coming too?"

Lily's voice seemed to jar Hermione back to the leaden reality and silently she knelt down to embrace the little girl as well, wanting more time, another minute, anything she could have.

"No, but soon. I think, soon."

It was strange, Hermione thought, that her own voice could sound so calm, even as she knew the words were lies. She wished that she were dead. She wished she had been given a moment to say goodbye to Albus and James. To thank Arthur for everything he had done for her. She finally let Lily go, and then got back to her feet slowly. Ginny watched her and Hermione saw her silent bravery, could see that Ginny knew the truth –that this was goodbye.

And she smiled – a real, genuine smile. A smile that was a faint memory of the smiles she had worn as a child, as a young girl, as a student at Hogwarts and even at the end, as Ron Weasley's wife. A woman who no longer truly existed.

"I'll see you soon. I love you, Gin."

"I love you, 'Mione."

It was better this way, she realized, and she watched Ginny being led away until the darkness swallowed her up completely, leaving Hermione all alone.

* * *

><p><em>She had smiled<em>.

It was a smile that seemed so tragically misplaced on this night, during such a goodbye. And strangely enough it was the only thing he would remember later, when he went home to his wife, to his house, and was trying to sleep in his bed. No matter how he tried, Draco was certain that the smile would be difficult to forget. And it made him angry.

He knew how to break people, knew how to make them feel less than human, to treat them like they were rubbish. He was used to seeing tears and hearing the words of pleading, and of begging. Those things he had long ago learned how to ignore, or how to justify away. He was only doing what he knew was right; he was only becoming what his father had hoped he would be someday. But this? This, he didn't know how to handle. This he had no control over, and there was a foreign and uninvited feeling in the pit of his stomach once more, just like that day when he had first seen her in the London streets.

The smile she had given Weasley was burned into his memory even when he turned away, sneered at her with disgust, told her to keep moving towards the large storehouses they had rented for their most current purposes. He followed her as she moved towards what would be an uncertain future. Even Draco himself didn't know what was in store for her now. And he didn't _care_.

_I don't care._

It was something he was trying to make himself believe.

She stood in a long line of tired and despairing people – witches and wizards beaten down by life, shaken and nearly destroyed. He moved away from her without sparing her another glance, hoping that in this, he would make himself forget that stupid _smile._

But, he couldn't.

Her eyes had widened, her face had grown ashen and she had clung to Weasley, holding back tears. She had hugged Potter's disgusting little offspring next, telling her that she would see her soon, and then telling them that she loved them and then…then that _stupid, fucking smile._

It made Draco's insides twist.

_They call her 'Mione? Stupid, bloody __nickname – what the hell kind of nickname is that?_

No matter what was happening to her, she _still_ managed a smile for everyone else.

_Why does that meaningless__ girl bother me so much?_

Even though things seemed hopeless, that smile had – what? It had been just a sliver of light across a darkened future.

He watched her from his place at the front of the line where two of his employees were checking each person entering the building for possessions, weapons and valuables. They moved into the building in single file, like the cattle they were. He had pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the end flickering in the darkness surrounding him and then, and only then, had he felt comfortable simply watching her. He decided that it was a sick fascination, and nothing more. After all, she was filthy, worthless, and beneath him anyhow. A freak show of such great proportions one could not help but look. Yes, that's what it was. He leaned against the building casually, pulling on the cigarette and watching her. She was too thin now, and not the girl he recalled from their school days. Her hair was still as wild and seemingly unmanageable as he remembered though – bushy-haired know-it-all who cared about school and learning more than presentation. He mildly recalled now thinking she was ugly, at least when he had first seen her. But then again…that wasn't really the truth. There was something…gripping about her. She was…somehow…

Something about the fact that he couldn't get her smile and those eyes out of his mind lately made Draco feel on edge.

_I'm going bloody mad, that's all. I need to go home, to get some firewhisky in me – yes, that's it. A drink and some proper rest and this whole night will be a joke tomorrow._

She was staring straight ahead, he could see. Her head held high, her face a mask of calm. He hated it. He hated HER.

Perhaps if someone hadn't been looking so closely at her, she would have gotten away with it, but Draco suddenly saw a glint of gold and the fact that she had just slipped her wedding ring from her finger and into her mouth.

_Conniving little bitch!_

Yet, it was somewhat impressive that she had such gall. She was nothing – and yet she _still_ tried to defy them! He would show her.

Draco pushed away from the wall and stomped over to the head of the line with determination. He would show her how he hated her and how she was nothing – and hopefully he would wipe away the memory of her stupid smile.

* * *

><p>Hermione had seen what they were doing now – taking their valuables, their only remaining possessions.<p>

_Killing us slowly. When will this end?_

Her heart was numb from pain now, even Ginny's departure had not wrought the tears she thought it would have. But still she felt the pain – each time she took a breath. Her only friends, her family – gone now.

_I'll never see them again. I'll die in this wretched place, won't I?_

She had stared down at her wedding ring then, and even in the dim moonlight it seemed to shine brighter than she thought it should have. At least she still had this, and she would not allow them to take it from her. Thinking quickly, she slipped the ring from her thin finger and into her mouth. It tasted metallic and dirty but she tucked it to the side of her cheek as she approached Malfoy and the two officials standing at the head of the line.

She saw a sneer form on his pallid face.

"The ring."

He reached out, opening up the palm of one of his hands –beautiful hands- she recalled, and motioned it towards her. Her eyes moved from his palm, up to his face.

"I don't have a ring."

A flicker of hatred flared in the depths of his eyes, a shade of smoky gray that Hermione had never seen before.

"Come off it Granger," he hissed closing the distance between them. They were so close Hermione could feel the heat of him. "I saw you put it in that bloody, lying mouth of yours."

Her heart plummeted like meteor crashing down around her. So he would take this too, the only thing she had left.

"You might as well kill me then," she replied. "You've taken everything else; I won't let you have it."

She prayed that he would not see her fear, and she stood up straight defying him with everything in her. He pointed with a rough motion towards the building behind them.

"Really? What good will it do you in _there_?"

His question was a hiss and just like her, he refused to back down. Reaching up he grasped her chin in his hand and applied pressure. Hermione resisted, fighting against his touch. His hand seemed much too warm for a man who was so bitter cold.

She said nothing but her eyes snapped viciously.

"Give me the bloody ring," he demanded again, two spots of color flaring up along his angular cheeks.

Hermione felt the pressure of his fingers digging into the side of her cheeks and then the ring cut her mouth and she tasted metal and blood. Still, she refused to give up the last thing of worth that she would ever have.

"Spit. It. Out!"

Hermione could sense the growing agitation in each of his clipped words, and it brought her a sick sense of satisfaction – that was until one of the other officials gave her a nasty smack to the side of the face causing her to let out a whimper. She stumbled backwards out of Malfoy's grasp. Her breathing ragged, Hermione rolled the ring along her tongue, her eyes watering from the pain of the smack, and then without preamble she glared up at Malfoy and spit the ring in his face, blood, saliva and all. It hit him smack on the chin.

"There you go, you piece of shit."

Her words were low and gravely, and she trembled with anger. Malfoy wiped her blood laced spittle from his face with clear disgust.

"You'll be sorry for that, Mudblood," he whispered menacingly.

Hermione, for her part, was not fazed – she had already determined that she didn't care if she died or lived. She felt herself being pulled away from Malfoy and she stumbled and fell onto the ground, heart racing violently. He turned to the other men with him.

"Put her under Parkinson's watch," he stated firmly. "Make sure that someone watches her at all times. Perhaps that'll teach her a lesson."

Hermione winced at his tone and the implication, but mostly at the expressions on the faces of Malfoy's minions. His new minions, she supposed. In school, there had been Crabbe and Goyle, and now there were these – more sadistic and more powerful, but still all the same. Men that would do Malfoy's dirty work for him because deep down, he was a coward.

A stupid, disgusting, worthless _coward._

As she was pushed towards the large building, along with the hoard of people she wondered one thing.

_Why didn't he just kill me?_

The question made her sigh with relief and shudder with fear all at once. What would happen to her now?

* * *

><p>Marcus Flint leered at Draco, and the tall, blond man expertly avoided meeting his eyes. There was just something about Flint that Draco didn't like – and it had nothing to do with the fact that the wizard was downright creepy. Not to mention, he took a very over enthusiastic pleasure in commanding the dementors – which was his new job under the Ministry. Draco thought it was fitting, for the job required little skill, and Flint had never shown a propensity for wit.<p>

"I would'ave killed her, Malfoy. Don't tell me you're going soft on us!"

He laughed and it sounded rather like the sound of a donkey in heat. Draco tried not to roll his eyes.

"I say that you quit questioning my judgment, Flint. I'm the one in charge here, not you."

The words were sharp and pointed and Draco glared up at the oafish man. Marcus sneered.

"All I was saying was that you might be goin' soft on us, Malfoy."

"Apparently you missed the nasty smack Rookwood gave that Mudblood, didn't you? What I do is not your business. Don't you have something to do? Like finish getting rid of…"

He looked over Flint's shoulder, and as he had several times the last month, Draco felt a sense of helplessness as he gazed across the line of scared witches and wizards who had been marked for the Kiss. It seemed like…excess. Almost unnecessary death, really. But he dared not say a word.

_I'm a coward._

Flint was grinning like an idiot.

"Mulciber told me she's a fine piece of ass, that Mudblood. I reckon I might take a little piece for myself, eh?"

Draco tried to keep his face neutral but he felt the same roiling in the pit of his stomach as he had the afternoon he and Mulciber had first seen Granger in the street three weeks prior.

"What you and Mulciber do to violate yourselves is of no consequence to me. Now leave me alone!"

He felt the ever familiar panic begin to set in, and forced himself to take deep breaths in hopes of ushering in the calm. Flint gave him a strange look.

"Fine by me. Pansy wants to see you before you go home."

"Parkinson can wait. I've had a long day and I don't give a bloody damn what she wants or doesn't want. Tell her I'll see her in the morning."

With that, Draco Malfoy stalked away, head held high and face a tight mask of nothingness. He found though, that even putting distance between himself and Mudblood Granger did nothing to erase her face from his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

_And so here is the next installment, in which Hermione meets a new friend and we delve into Draco's mind a little more. If you haven't already, and have a few seconds, please let me know how I'm doing! __I do care what you think – and if you're enjoying it, hating it, I'd love to know. I'm especially curious what you will think about Draco's past. Thanks for the reviews and alerts, guys! _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER SIX<p>

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><p>Hermione blinked as she walked into the large, stuffy, dusty room, glad to be away from the Ministry and from Draco Malfoy.<p>

Her heart still beat strangely within her, from anger and confusion. For the hundredth time she wondered why Malfoy had not simply taken her earlier in the courtyard, where she had spit her wedding ring at him. Surely, it must have happened often. Too many other wizards and witches had died in the last several years, some for lesser transgressions!

And yet…

The room she had entered was lit by harsh overhead lights which did little but cast a strange yellowish glow to the enclosed space. She followed a small group to the far left corner where a double cot sat - nothing more than a metal frame and a lumpy mattress on top of it. There were no blankets, no place to put the clothing she wore, and nothing to change into. In fact, the whole room was filled with such cots – end to end, so that it was nearly too crowded to move.

Hermione, however, would not complain. Since the fire that had destroyed the Burrow, she had not had a mattress to lie on, and this in some strange way, was not entirely unsatisfactory.

She chose a cot and then sat down, her legs giving out from under her, and as she fell back onto the mattress, her whole body throbbed with the nightmarish pains that it had endured that night. The room was full of people - stuffed with life and heat, and yet it was eerily quiet, as if everyone was too frightened to speak. She closed her weary eyes and lay there - feeling her heart beat in every inch of her body. In spite of losing the only people she had called family the last six years, and the two near beatings she had received, she found herself thankful for the respite, for this moment of rest. She let out a sigh.

"He's not the worst."

The sudden voice from above her made Hermione jump, and her eyes fly open.

"Malfoy, I mean."

The man speaking was vaguely familiar, though the years and the new world had taken their toll - he looked wan and beaten down. Hermione found herself blinking furiously, her mind working on overdrive.

"J-justin?"

Ignoring the comment about Draco Malfoy, Hermione could only register surprise and a flicker of joy at the moment of recognition. Justin. Finch-Fletchley. Former rich boy from Hufflepuff. Popular and funny, he had been a good student and an even better friend. She recalled his infectious laughter, his warmth. She even recalled wide sparkling eyes and a head of vivid sun kissed curls framing a rather handsome face.

Justin. _Muggle-born_ Justin. His fate was the same as hers. Life had been just as cruel to him, she was certain.

They watched each other for a moment and finally, he broke the silence.

"Someone mentioned there was a fight going on outside of the bunks, so I wandered to the doorway and - I thought it was you. The hair gave it away."

Hermione moved over on her cot so the leggy man could sit down, and he did so slowly. She detected stiffness in his body language, as if he was bearing an unspoken pain. Perhaps, he was. But if he was in pain, he covered it up with a lopsided smile that Hermione could not help but to return. The moment warmed her.

"My hair's the same as ever, I guess."

Her response was sheepish.

Justin sighed as he looked at her.

"You looked familiar. It's funny though, isn't it? All of us...searching, hoping for just a crumb of familiarity. I just - I saw you and I thought of Hogwarts, of bushy-haired, know it all Hermione from Gryffindor and it kind of...made me smile."

Hermione dropped her gaze down to the tops of her hands, as they rested on her lap. Her eyes watered as she gazed at her now naked ring finger, her heart twisting in pain. She didn't reply for a long time, and when she did it was barely above a whisper.

"It's hard to find anything to smile about anymore."

Justin made a soft murmur of agreement.

"It's been difficult."

Hermione looked up at him curiously. The truth was, she hadn't thought much about what had happened to those who had managed to survive the battle at Hogwarts - Justin included. She knew some had died, many in fact. In her scrapbook of nightmares, there were many still-frames of long dead friends and companions. Those same people she had shared midnight talks with, challenges with class work and magical training. People whom had made her laugh, whom she had grown up with, who would always hold a special place in her heart. Yet, the war, the changing world had made all those memories fade somewhat. She wondered now what Seamus Finnigan was doing, if Dean was still alive and well, and her belly did a small lurch as she thought of Luna and Neville. They were pureblood, and she hoped and prayed that in this new world, they were doing well and thriving. She hoped that they had not done the selfless things the Weasley's had done, for she wanted her old friends to have joy in their lives.

_Please, let __them be happy somewhere, even if I never see them again._

Justin interrupted the lengthy silence.

"I heard somewhere along the line that you married Ron Weasley."

A faint smile played on Hermione's lips.

"Five years ago. He...well, we didn't really have a reason to wait, you see. Not with the War, what had been going on then. We were on the run, and he had been hurt. It was...quick. It was..."

She shuddered, and shook her head, her face falling.

"There was an explosion right after - and Ron...Ron didn't make it. Ginny, Harry and I...we...we had to keep running. I feel like I haven't stopped running since."

Her voice faded away, heavy with dread and implying long endured pain and suffering. A moment later she managed to take in a huge breath and look up at her companion, whose eyes shone with a strange kinship.

"Blimey, 'Mione! I didn't know!"

She shook her head quickly.

"It's all right. One thing I can say is that somehow, you just keep moving on, you know?"

Her question was hopeful as she stared up at her former schoolmate who nodded as well, understanding coloring his eyes. They didn't have to mention Harry – that Harry was dead, because in the end that was why things were different. That was why Voldemort had won.

"My Rosie died a few years ago," he admitted his lips pressed into a line, and Hermione thought that whatever it was he had gone through had crippled him deeply. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder as he revealed a past that was as tragic as anything Hermione had gone through.

"I came to London with my daughter last year. Three weeks ago they raided our flats and then forced us all to come here. Some of the others who lived in my neighborhood are gone now. The ones they call blood traitors always get sent away, though I don't know where. The children work, unless they are too young."

His eyes watered for a moment.

"I thought maybe I could handle being here, you know? Even with Rosie gone, my life in ruins and the way they all treated us. Because I had my little one. Except that they decided she was too young and...well..."

He looked up, swallowing hard.

"That's what they say the dementors are for."

Hermione was struck silent at even the thought of knowing that any man or woman would be put through that, let alone a child. And her heart broke for Justin, who had put his face in his hands. His voice was muffled as he continued.

"I guess the only blessing is that if my wife and daughter were still alive, they would have to deal with this hell on Earth. So maybe it's better this way, that they both went to a better place."

Hermione watched as Justin stood, and turned away from her to gaze towards the door to the courtyard - the only way in or out. She remained motionless, her thoughts moving to earlier that night, the eagerness of the Ministry officials to give Lily the kiss. To know that it had been so close still stopped her heart, and when it resumed it's erratic beating, she was overcome by the uneasiness of knowing that it was because of Draco Malfoy that Lily Potter had been allowed to live.

_I hate to admit it, but it's true._

She stood to join her new companion, not wanting to be far from him right then. The feeling of being all alone threatened to break her. They stood there, side by side, watching other newcomers enter, all wearing the same looks of fear and confusion that Hermione had been wearing earlier. The room was quickly becoming full, and now it was harder to have a conversation because the din of whispers and fearful murmurs had grown louder.

Amidst the strangers in the crowd, Hermione's brown eyes searched for one particular person - the one who had been so hateful and yet at the same time who had offered her a great kindness. But he was nowhere to be seen. She found herself turning towards Justin curiously.

"You said...about Malfoy-"

Justin nodded quickly, looking first to his left and right and then down at her.

"He's not as bad as the others," he finished for her. "Some of the things I've seen..."

Hermione motioned towards her cot in the corner and he joined her there, his look serious.

"Some of them...they like to hurt just for the sake of hurting. Pansy Parkinson and Marcus Flint especially, but they're all pretty bad. They're a nasty lot, and they don't have any reason to be as cruel as they are. Even if to them we are just Mudlboods."

He took a deep breath, and his words were tinged with sarcasm at the end. Then he grew more serious, his face falling.

"Malfoy tried to save my daughter, when no one else would."

* * *

><p>Draco had gone home.<p>

As he had predicted earlier, he could not sleep. Instead, he had taken to the balcony of his home, which faced one of the quiet main streets in Kensington. Here, it was a different world. Here, Draco could break free from the despair that surrounded him each day at the Ministry, and now at the new alienages his Aunt had instituted. The house where he lived with his wife was a two story stone row that rose up above one of the main streets in central west London. During the day, the street would often be busy, but this time of night, Draco was by his lonesome. All the better, he decided.

Behind him he could still glimpse the figure of his wife in their bed, her face ethereal porcelain, framed by long raven colored hair. He had a long time ago likened her to a doll, one of those ones that women collected. In every way, she had been perfect. Astoria Greengrass Malfoy had been of money and from a pureblood family. She had been, and still was, a woman of impeccable beauty, exceptional breeding and high status. To his parents, those things had mattered the most, and Draco had taken her willingly as his wife not even one year after leaving Hogwarts.

The thought of the last time he had been at Hogwarts made him wince – too many memories were associated with that day.

_I was a coward. I could have stayed behind. But I didn't. They told me to come with them, and I did._

And when they had swiftly arranged his marriage, he had agreed as well. Astoria was no better or worse than any other girl his parents would have chosen, so in the end they had both entered into an uncertain union. And Draco had quickly learned that the virtues Astoria exemplified were rather dimmed by the vices which she kept hidden.

She was a woman who easily caved to bouts of rather impressive anger – though when Draco had found himself on the receiving end of that anger, it was no longer so impressive. She was quick with her tongue and knew how to cut someone down. She tended towards bigotry. And she was cruel, rude and snobbish. Not that those things mattered to Draco, for he often cornered the market on such traits himself.

What bothered him was that even motherhood had not softened her.

It wasn't like Draco had _expected_ motherhood to change her, simply because he had not expected to change _himself._ After all, a child was still just a child. His father had not changed after having him, had he? Lucius Malfoy had been the same cold and standoffish man that Draco imagined he had been _before_ his own birth. Having a child had meant very little to Draco – even when he had found that Astoria was with child, he had not been able to muster much emotion. Children were a nuisance. They were best seen and not heard. Children were bratty little things that didn't know how to keep their emotions in check. They were annoying, needy and a general pain in the arse.

But the truth was, that in some way, he had _hoped _motherhood would change Astoria.

This was because the only warmth, the only good memories Draco had of his own childhood had involved his mother – her smiles, her hushed voice as she had told him stories while tucking him into bed, the way she had been his protector as he grew older. And most importantly, the way she had betrayed Voldemort to ensure his safety. He knew she had been a cold woman, but motherhood had changed _her._

Had it been unrealistic to have the same hope in his wife? Had his father cared at all about fatherhood, or whether or not his wife had embraced being a mother? These things he did not know, but there was one thing he _did _know for sure.

He had been irrevocably changed from the moment he had looked into the eyes of his own son.

Perhaps the change had not been an earth-shattering one. Perhaps he had changed in small, insignificant ways, but the change had happened, and it had been irreversible. Draco did not know if what he felt for his late parents had been love. He knew, for certain, that he did not love his wife. And he was just as certain that his first taste of love had happened with the birth of his son.

Scorpius had become Draco's only reason to live – amidst a fallen wizarding world, a wife who sometimes scared, but mostly angered him, and the death of his parents. And his mild affection for Astoria Greengrass had faded a little every time she had refused to check her bad moods around their son, each time she had chosen to scold him, to belittle him, or even to ignore him. In the end, she single handedly had destroyed any possibility of Draco's ever loving her – and she had never been aware of it. Or, she had known the entire time, and never cared.

Either way, Draco had long ago gone from simply tolerating his wife's presence to ignoring her altogether. They lived in a massive house, lead two different lives and on the outside nothing was amiss. It was as he wanted it.

Draco turned and walked through the massive double doors that led to their bedroom and gazed on Astoria. She sighed in her sleep and mumbled something incoherent as if she knew he was watching her. Then, she was silent once more. It was the way Draco liked her best – if liked was the appropriate word. Tolerated would have been more appropriate, he supposed.

He silently padded past the large bed and to their chest of drawers, where he rifled through the contents, his fingers closing around an old, slightly faded photograph. He carried it to the window and then looked down.

A little boy waved up at him, chubby fingers wiggling, and a bright smile lighting up a cherubic face framed by white-blond hair.

_Malfoy hair_, Draco thought with a faint smile.

Scorpius Malfoy had gotten his beauty from his mother, but his hair and bright gray eyes were Draco's.

The Healers at St. Mungo's had told him some rubbish about scarlet fever – he hadn't believed them. There had been too much going on then, and Draco had been torn in several directions. The Ministry had been reorganizing itself, and he had been busy trying to maintain order in a world that had fallen to chaos. Recently promoted, he had been trying to shift into a heavier workload and a job that had become more stressful than it was truly worth. And when Scorpius had come down with what Astoria had called the sniffles, he hadn't thought twice about it.

The infant had passed three days later, his tiny body emaciated and pink, burning with the fever which had killed him. All the joy, the sense in Draco's life had passed with the boy. He should have known, for joy was fleeting. He had known little happiness growing up, and what scant joy had been given him in adulthood had been torn away by cruel fate. He had never imagined that while death and destruction had befallen all those around him, that he, Draco Malfoy, would also fall victim.

But he had. He had lost his little boy. He had lost everything that had made sense in his life.

He had lost a part of himself.

Draco knew he would never forget the way he had felt, standing in the waiting room at St. Mungo's, his heart turning into a deadened thing inside of him when he had seen the sadness and sympathy reflected in the eyes of the mediwitch assigned to Scorpius's case. He hadn't needed to hear the confirmation; he had known Scorpius was dead.

To that day, he still was not able to put into words the consummate loss he had felt as he had held the fragile body of his son, still hot from fever. Not that it mattered, for he had not shared it with anyone. Not his wife, not his parents, who had still been living then, and not any of his other family. The pain was Draco's own and he had carried it within him, locking himself away in the western side of the house, taking no food, no drink, no visitors and no work for weeks on end. By that time, he had long loathed his wife and even her demands and pleas fell on deaf ears. It was only after a riot in eastern London between the Ministry and a group of Muggle-supporters which caused his parents deaths, did Draco finally emerge from grieving.

When he had rejoined the remnants of those still alive, Draco had been a changed man. A man who had no family, no parents, a dead son and a wife he hated. A man who had learned how to turn off his emotions so that he could get through each day. He was now a man who no longer cared – if he had ever cared at all.

Draco gazed down at the photograph once again. It was four years old now.

_He would have been five__ this autumn._

The tiny boy in the photograph waved again, and broke into another wide smile, a smile that hinted at boyish giggles, a smile innocent, bright and genuine.

A smile that had been rare then, and now.

A smile that was a sliver of light along a darkened horizon.

_Granger's smile._

And that had been the reason he could not get her out of his mind. The reason he had spared Lily Potter. The reason he had let Granger live that night.

For how could he be the one to extinguish a rare light amidst an ever present and deepening darkness? He had already lost his son. He did not want to lose all memories of him, too.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks guys for reading, reviewing and alerting! I'm so thrilled __that people are enjoying this. Next installment – where I introduce Pansy and Hermione gets some surprises – both nice and not so nice. In the last chapter, I got a message asking if I was using elements from the film in some of Draco's thoughts. Yes, I am. I liked how torn Draco seemed at the end of the film when his parents called him "across the line". I also liked how the Malfoys deserted at the end of the film - it's what I went with. And so, just to be clear, that part of the book was disregarded.  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVEN<p>

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Bellatrix looked down at the sheet of paper she held in her hand, a scowl on her face. One dark eyebrow was raised in skepticism.

"You're requesting the Weasley family be transferred back to London then?"

Draco nodded mildly, carefully putting on the air of nonchalance. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"I have been given reports this morning that the alienage in question is quite full. Pansy Parkinson owled me last night telling me she cannot accommodate another piece of muggle-born trash. Not that it matters. We are eliminating them slowly anyway, but still, I cannot understand for the life of me why you would make such a request."

Draco frowned, but said nothing. The question arose in his mind too – why was he doing this? Was it madness or something else? He suspected that the answer lay in the hope that bringing back the Weaslette would assuage his guilt over what he had done to Granger the week previous.

But of course, he would never admit that to anyone, least of all his half insane Aunt.

"The Weasleys are blood traitors, are they not? They deserve the same sort of punishment as the mudbloods. Why send them away if they don't have pureblood status? They are just as bad, in my opinion."

Draco worked carefully to avoid her gaze so that she wouldn't sense his uncertainties. Bellatrix was silent for a second before dropping the missive on his desk.

"Arthur Weasley and his sons are gone now, so who knows where they've been sent. The girl and her brood remain in Azkaban. I know not what they are planning on doing with her, but the children are the perfect age, you know. Marcus Flint mentioned traveling to Azkaban soon. Seems to me that there are some interesting experiments they are conducting with wands and dementors, and last I heard, they needed…something to practice on."

Her tone was gleeful, and Draco swallowed back his distaste as he formed a response. He worked hard to not think of his son, but since his sleepless night he had been doing nothing _but. _His words were slightly roughened by his deeply buried emotions.

"Experimenting on children are we now?"

Bellatrix let out a high pitched manic giggle.

"Half-breeds, mudbloods and blood traitor trash, yes. What do they matter? All they do is muddy up our Lord's plans, don't you think?"

He stood up and then picked up the request once more, ignoring his Aunt's question. Draco had long held the unpopular belief that any wizard or witch with such a hunger for violence and death as Voldemort was a nutter. He understood necessary death to keep the peace, to maintain order, but he had never been comfortable with just…killing.

He said nothing about _that,_ however.

"Perhaps you have missed the part about Pansy being so busy that she needs the extra help with cooking, laundry, cleaning…scavenging too. All those things take people. Certainly you don't plan on having us do such menial tasks?"

Draco stared Bellatrix directly in the eyes, his voice steady.

"The Weasley girl can work. Her children are also of age."

"Have it your way then. I never did understand you, Nephew. You're nothing like your father."

She studied her fingernails.

"Now, don't you have an alienage to run? Or was that my imagination?"

Draco walked out of the office stiffly, ignoring her nasty, baiting comments.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Justin flinched slightly as Hermione handed him a stack of towels to be washed.

"Sometimes," he told her knowingly, as he kept his voice low, "there's dozens of muggle-borns. The officials just come here, load them up and then…they're gone. Knowing that Annabelle died is better than not knowing what happened to someone you loved."

His face was pale – Hermione had first noticed that in plain daylight the morning after they had reunited. Too pale, as if the life had been drained from him over time. She was silent, staring down at her stack of dirty laundry as he continued.

"Since I've come here, the sleeping quarters have filled up twice already. Most Muggle-borns are only here…until…"

He fell silent, and they both knew what he had been about to say.

_Until they are taken away to be killed._

Not that Hermione was any more terrified of being in the alienage than of dying, because in two days she had seen more death than she had since moving into the Burrow. People died all the time, she knew. Muggles now, more and more of them, and too many Muggle-borns. But she had forgotten what it was like to see it happen before her eyes. Murder.

Justin had been right. Some of them did it for sport, some of them seemed to _enjoy_ the abuse and pain they inflicted on those under their watch. Sometimes you could do all the right things, and still they'd beat you, torture you, make you cry and cower.

As she took more clothing from the large box one of the Ministry officials had brought them, she suddenly heard Pansy Parkinson laughing. When Hermione turned, she could see a boy no older than Ginny's Albus writhing in pain as Pansy stunned him with a nasty stinging jinx. A box of powder soap had been spilled all around him. Hermione felt a terrible helplessness fall over her, for she knew to reach out and help him would mean severe punishment for herself. And yet, how could anyone just let a little boy suffer like that?

"That'll show you!"

Pansy was sneering down at the boy who hardly moved. It was inhumane.

"Next time, be more careful."

Once Pansy was gone, the others in the laundry room fell into a death-like silence. The only sound was the water in the basins and the boy's weak moans. Hermione only hesitated for a split second before falling to her tired knees to reach for the boy and cradle him so that he didn't have to lie on the dirty, soap covered floor.

"It's going to be ok."

She whispered to him, wishing there was something she could do about the burning of his face and the fact that he was twitching with pain. Reaching up she dipped one of the dirty shirts into a pail of water standing nearby and swathed his face with it, hoping that the cool water would ease the sting, even though she knew that it would only bring slight relief. Anything was better than nothing, she supposed. As the boy mewled in her arms, she glared at the other occupants of the room.

"Shame on all of you – am I the only one who will help him?"

Her voice was tinged with accusation and disbelief. Hermione took another glance at the child and he could only stare up at her with wide, pain ridden eyes. She gently stroked his dark hair.

"Why should we?" one of them called out. "We're in the same bloody boat, aren't we?"

A woman in the corner who had been scrubbing clothing spoke up as well. There was terror in her voice.

"They gave my son the Kiss! Why should I stick out my neck for someone I don't know? Do you know what they do to people who try to help, you silly girl?"

Hermione's eyes filled with hot tears and as she blinked them away, she determined herself not to walk away, to be brave, and to help in spite of what was to happen to her. It would be less than human to ignore someone in need. Unless these people were already so far gone and beaten down that they had forgotten their compassion. She clutched the boy to herself.

"I'd rather die than to ignore someone who needs help!"

Her voice trembled, but it was loud and clear. Someone snorted, the sound dark and choked. Hermione looked up to see a stout, wiry-haired woman watching her with a mixture of contempt and sadness.

"We're already dead. Don't you worry."

* * *

><p><em>A week after that<em>

Draco watched her, though she couldn't see _him._ At least, that's what he hoped, because he had caught himself watching her more than once in the two weeks since she had been brought to the alienage. It wouldn't do for someone, her, or otherwise to catch him. Too many questions, he knew. At any rate, he watched her, silvered eyes gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Draco pulled slowly on the end of his cigarette before tossing it aside and putting it out with his boot.

She was a bleeding heart, that one. Not that Draco was surprised. He knew what Granger had been like in school – always helping everyone around her, always the kind one, the thoughtful one. She had been the one to get Weasley and Potter out of their messes; without her, they probably would have failed much earlier than they had. She had been the resourceful, brilliant one.

_Gods, I hate that I'm even making these bloody admissions._

But they were true.

It was the second time that he had caught her on the filthy ground, trying to help one of the younger ones. The first time it had been the boy in the laundry room. This time, a little girl who had gotten the food rations mixed up. It was not surprising then, that the children in the alienage were starting to cling to Granger's worn and dirty skirts. After all, they had woken up one day, hadn't they, scared and crying for parents who were either unable to help them or dead. They had been brought to this wretched place and made to work day in and day out, and even if they did a fair job the Ministry took great pleasure in seeing them cry. Only this Mudblood took pity on them. Only Granger offered them a whispered word, a gentle touch, her concern when they were hurt. It was Granger who smiled at them.

_That _smile.

Ironic, the Ministry was trying to forbid magic by all those without pure blood, and yet Granger defied them, for she created magic without a wand. Just by-

The image of Scorpius flickered across Draco's conscience, and he closed his burning eyes to will the thoughts away. No. He wouldn't think of that now, it was over, his son was _dead._

_But these children aren't, _a voice in his mind told him.

He almost moved, his body was poised to move forward, his throat closed tightly with emotion, but then-

"Draco, what are you doing?"

Pansy Parkinson. She was bloody everywhere. Even before Draco had begun making his daily trips to the alienage in eastern London he couldn't help running into her sometimes. Now, it was nearly on a daily basis, and sometimes more than once. She had an uncanny way of knowing where he was, and it was starting to become more than a little irritating. He had hoped at some point the silly obsession she had harbored for him throughout their years at Hogwarts would have ended, but then again, lately he'd not been having much sodding luck with anything. He had also hoped after leaving Hogwarts with his parents, he would never see her again. Another hope dashed.

She had never married – that he knew of. She had been too driven and determined in her career. Out of all the former students in Slytherin house, Pansy had been the first to secure a position within the Ministry, although Draco secretly believed it was because of her father's tight connections more than Pansy's raw talent. Although he had admitted shortly after starting his position at the Ministry, that Pansy did have a knack for wand magic. He couldn't recall now if that had always been the case, or if she had developed a nimble hand and quick mind after Voldemort's rise to power. Either way, she had started within the Department of International Wizard Relations, but everyone knew that it was simply a stepping stone to what she had _really_ wanted to do, which was work with Bellatrix Lestrange. And of course, his Aunt had taken her in with relish, which was of no surprise to Draco. He knew Pansy to be as pleasant as an angry hippogriff – and that was on a good day. And along with honing her magical talents, Pansy had developed a rather disturbing propensity for torture. Children, especially – and so Bellatrix had made her Commandant of the new alienages. Pansy Parkinson ruling anyone with an iron fist was enough to make the bravest man wet his trousers.

_Those two are a match made in hell._

Draco didn't move when he felt her join him at one of the windows which looked into the laundry hall. He didn't react to her comment or the strange sound she made when she saw what he was looking at, bit finally he took a moment to tear his eyes away from Granger to look at her. She looked cross, and he knew that wasn't a good thing.

Her glare was icy.

"What are you doing?"

The repeated question wasn't a demanding one, but beneath the pleasantries Draco sensed a tenseness, as if she was drawn tightly, about to snap.

"What's it to you?"

Apparently his answer wasn't good enough because Pansy stepped between the building and Draco, turning her violet colored eyes up at him.

"This is my job," she muttered angrily. "Your job is to manage…somewhere else. I am fine here. You needn't be standing around _staring._"

He sneered at her.

"I'm not staring."

He felt her eyes move from him and then they were both looking in the same direction.

"Stupid Mudblood," Pansy whispered.

Draco didn't react because he had feeling she _wanted_ him to.

"Does it matter? Aren't all the ones here eventually going to die anyway? Why does it bother you so much?"

Pansy looked outraged and her cheeks flushed brightly.

"If I punish them it's because they deserve it! Who is she to play Mudblood savior? I'll show her. One day, I'll show her."

Draco was taken aback by her tone for only a split second – he was used to such hatred, but it was strange coming from a girl he had grown up with. Clearly, she'd had a side he had never considered.

"What you do when I am not here is your business," he replied coolly, his tone one of disgust. "But what you do while I am here is another matter altogether. And you will not touch the children. You will not touch them and you will not touch the Mudblood."

Pansy let out a high pitched sound.

"Are you mad? Whose side are you on, anyway? The Draco Malfoy I knew hardly gave a damn about something as insignificant as a bunch of Mudbloods!"

His grey eyes were cold as he glared at her, but Draco was disturbed at how well Pansy had read him.

"The only thing I give a damn about is keeping order! What do you think will happen if you keep terrorizing these mudbloods? I don't want to deal with some mad uprising!"

Pansy's eyes widened at his outburst and she did not reply which was just fine with Draco. Her jaw was set and he could see her fist tightening around her wand as he opened his mouth.

"You disgust me."

His voice was cold, a mere hiss, and then he whirled and stalked away from Pansy, from the window, from Granger playing the savior. He wondered how long he could keep peace in a place that God had long ago forsaken.

* * *

><p><em>And yet another <em>_week later_

Justin squinted in the bright sunlight as he and Hermione crossed the nearly empty courtyard. To their left, the sleeping quarters rose up and one could see people milling around inside and some sitting on the crumbling stoop outside. They watched the duo with sour expressions on their faces. Neither Hermione nor Justin took the looks seriously – no one wore a look of joy here.

It was a joyless place. The most you could find here was…listlessness.

Hermione counted the days as she walked. Had it only been a month? Yes, only one month had passed, and yet it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime of misery and sadness with no respite in sight, and suddenly Hermione wondered if what Justin had told her on the night she had arrived was indeed true. Perhaps being dead and spared this misery was better, after all.

The box was full of clothing – Hermione had not known where it had come from until she had snuck a look inside. On top of the pile was a messily folded pair of pajama bottoms covered with teddy bears. She had seen a little girl wearing them only a day ago. That little girl and her mother were gone now. Last night, Hermione knew, they had come. The officials had led a group of muggle-borns from the room and they had never returned.

_Gone forever. _

She felt a shudder of coldness rock her body, in spite of the sweltering heat of summer around her. She thought back to the wiry haired woman who had been with her in the laundry rooms. She had been right; everyone's time would come. Sooner than later, Hermione knew.

_How much time do I have left?_

She snuck a look at Justin, whose blond curls seem to shine radiantly in the sunlight. She wondered when it would be his turn, if he had come to peace with it, if he was looking forward to seeing his wife and daughter again. Hermione, herself, felt a warmth washing over her each time she thought of seeing Ron and Harry again. And Molly. And perhaps her parents.

Justin startled Hermione out of her reverie as he leaned down to whisper to her.

"She watches you a lot. Pansy, I mean. That's not a good thing."

Hermione blinked looking up at her new found friend.

"What do you mean?"

"The other day, she was watching you. Her and Malfoy, standing right there," he explained pointing towards the windows of the building straight ahead.

Something in Hermione flickered, and she was familiar enough with it to understand that it was fear.

Malfoy. He had saved Lily. He had spared her life, too. One day, he'd want repaid, she was certain. It was the only thing that made sense, and Hermione did not want that day to come. She was afraid of what he would want – he heart skipped a beat at the thought.

They turned the corner towards the laundry rooms and Pansy Parkinson was leaning against the building, wand in hand, a bored expression on her face. But as they neared her, Hermione sensed a strange hunger in the other woman's gaze. Something that reminded her much of the way Bellatrix had gazed at her that day at Malfoy Manor…

Another shudder ran through Hermione, stopping her for a moment. Pansy's eyes locked with her own, and it was like Hermione was unable to look away. She could only stare while the other girl sneered and pulled away from the wall, smacking her wand against the open palm of her rather large hand in a menacing gesture. Justin prodded her gently.

"Come on."

She moved forward, stumbling slightly, at Justin's urging. She could still feel Pansy's hard glare burning a hole in her back. The room was full of people standing at the wash bins, and Hermione and Justin put down the new boxes of clothing to be washed and then turned to make the same trek once more for the remaining boxes near the entrance to the compound. Holding her head high, Hermione did her best to walk past Pansy once again without gazing in her direction, without flinching, without letting the leering woman know that she was afraid. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead and she squelched the urge to wipe it. Justin, as if knowing what Hermione was thinking, walked in between them. As they rounded the corner, they were in the empty courtyard once more, and that was when she saw them.

Hermione stopped short, emitting a strangled sound from the back of her throat; something that was between a gasp and a sob. It couldn't be. The sun must have been playing tricks on her. It was a dream – a wonderful dream. Hermione's trembling, ice cold hand came up to cover her mouth in shock.

"'Mione, are you ok?"

Justin's voice blended in with the sudden rushing of sound all around Hermione, and she couldn't reply, only able to stare at the four figures approaching with wide brown eyes. Justin turned to see what had startled Hermione so, and finally he recognized them.

"Blimey! It's…Merlin's beard, it's Ginny!"

_Ginny._

She was walking towards them, her long red hair shining in the sunlight, the loveliest sight Hermione had ever seen. She felt herself stirring inside with a thousand emotions. Fear. Love. Joy. Shock. Excitement.

_James.__ Albus._

James was walking next to Albus, making sure that no one would hurt his brother again, she was sure. He had always been so protective. His shock of dark hair was ruffled by the breeze. Albus was so small! So small, holding his mother's left hand and looking ahead, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and sadness. Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, the sudden, hot kind that burned her eyes, but were more than necessary. Tears of joy.

_Lily._

Beautiful Lily, whose strawberry blond curls fell around her shoulders. Lily, who was so perfect, and such a treasure. Lily, who was the first to recognize Hermione.

"Mione!" she cried out and then she began to race down the dusty courtyard to close the distance between them.

Hermione fell to her knees, her tears rolling down her face, all the pain and fear forgotten for now, replaced by joy and sheer love.

"Lily! I thought I'd never see you again!"

Her voice was choked and tearful, and she clung to the little girl, willing herself to never let go again, forgetting that such words might scare a four year old, but she didn't care. She couldn't – she was too overwhelmed.

She opened her arms up for the boys as well, who hugged her tightly, the four of them in a crumpled heap there in the courtyard, Hermione crying the children talking over each other, not allowing her to answer. All for the better, she knew. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that she could say to express what she was feeling in that moment.

Ginny joined them, helping Hermione to her feet, pulling her into a hug, and both of them were crying then, hugging, laughing, and whispering.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know they just came for us-"

"I can't believe it's you-"

"I've missed you so much, 'Mione!"

Their conversation continued in those small, clipped phrases, for neither could wait to ask questions, to express joy, to share what had happened. Hermione had forgotten her earlier fears over Malfoy, Justin's presence, and the way Pansy Parkinson had made her feel.

That was, until both women turned around to acknowledge Justin and Pansy Parkinson stood there, a nasty half smile on her face. Hermione dropped her head and took a step back, pulling Ginny with her.

Pansy smirked. At least now, she had the Mudblood bitch right where she wanted her.

_When I'm through with you, Draco and everyone else will have nothing to look at. Just you wait. Just you wait._

She took a step forward.


	8. Chapter 8

_You all rock – thanks guys! 'Tis the next update, in which Draco is nobody's savior. Did I mention this is __**not**__ fluffy Dramione? I think I did, a long time ago. (Yes, that was a hint – what lies ahead is slightly sad). This wasn't easy to write – I hope it's ok. Let me know, I'm a bit nervous about it. :) _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER EIGHT<p>

* * *

><p>In the dusty courtyard, all havoc had broken loose, for hell had never seen fury like Pansy Parkinson scorned.<p>

The woman in uniform reached over and grabbed Ginny by the collar of her blouse, yanking her away from the three children and Hermione, causing her to lose her footing and stumble. The enraged Pansy then turned her wand on Ginny with one graceful movement, pointing it at her frightened face, and her free hand clamped down on the other girl's shoulder forcefully, pushing her backwards.

"What are you doing here? I don't house purebloods, even if they _are_ stupid mudblood sympathizers. You should be in Azkaban, you blood traitor."

Her tone was nasty, and her eyes glittered with menace as they took in each of the children.

"The whole filthy lot of you."

Her eyes moved back to Ginny, her wand still raised.

"I don't know why we're here!" Ginny stated defensively. "All I know is that the other morning we were told we were to come back here. They wouldn't allow me any questions!"

Pansy's glittering violet eyes narrowed as she studied the redhead. She had no reason to lie, after all. And even if she _were _lying, they'd know it soon enough. She let the girl out of her vise-like grip reluctantly, taking a step back but not lowering her wand.

She knew the only other person who had any power at the alienage was Draco.

A part of Pansy's heart whimpered at the thought of him, and the rest of it – the largest part – seethed in anger. She hated him. It was a long standing hatred, because he had never wanted her, not while they had been at Hogwarts together, and not now - even after she had climbed the ladder in the Ministry and now held one of the top positions within it. Pansy had never understood his aversion to her, and therefore, over time had developed resentment in relation to him, although it was only thus because she wasn't getting what she wanted. A part of Pansy knew that if Draco turned those mesmerizing eyes in her direction with even a fraction of interest, she would forget she had ever hated or resented him.

And recently, Pansy knew _he_ had begun to resent _her_ – having to work with her and see her everyday. And for the life of her, Pansy couldn't figure this new side of him, especially the tiny, insignificant things he did…and did not do.

What enraged her most was the fact that she could see these changes, but she had no right to mention them, even if they were slowly killing her inside with anticipation, confusion and a gaggle of other emotions she refused to identify.

_And why can't I mention them?_

The sun beat down on them and Pansy felt sweat under the collar of her starched uniform. It only increased her irritation as she thought of Draco Malfoy.

_Because he's not mine, and no matter how much I want him, I can't claim him whatsoever. Not his moods, decisions or what he's thinking. Merlin knows I should be able to, but I can't._

What did it matter if she held a top official's job, if she was pureblood, if the world they lived in now was quite opportune, if she couldn't have what she had wanted for so long?

_How long have I wanted him?_

Forever, it seemed. From the moment they had met as ten year olds at one of Lucius Malfoy's gala events.

_How dare he marry someone else! How dare he marry Astoria, the porcelain bitch doll and never even consider me!__ How dare he regard me as not good enough? I am Pansy Parkinson! I have never been denied anything!_

She knew she was acting like a petulant, spoiled child, but she hardly gave a damn.

Pansy could not prove it, but she was certain that the return of the bloody Potter family was Draco's doing – and his decision had something to do with Mudblood Granger. She had seen him watching her. Not once, but twice in the last weeks.

The anger she felt was so strong, it felt less like an emotion, and more like a solid train that had hit her. Pansy nearly shook with it. And her anger had an unfortunate way of affecting those around her.

"You!"

She jabbed Justin in the side with her wand.

"Get back to work, you filthy piece of nothing. You're not on a jolly holiday. Go!"

Hermione only had a moment to give Justin a look of sympathy before she whirled around to see Pansy pull Ginny forward again, with increased anger now.

"You're coming with me! We'll get to the bottom of this mess!"

The declaration was followed by a cry from James. His voice was demanding and clear enough that everyone in the vicinity heard.

"You let her go!"

Hermione winced as Pansy turned, enraged.

"You dare raise your voice to me, you insignificant little brute?"

A jet of red light erupted from the tip of Pansy's wand before the words even fell from her lips.

"_Stupefy!_"

Without thinking, Hermione threw herself in the path of the spell, pushing James aside. The curse hit her and she tumbled forward with a great force, airborne for just a fraction of a second before she hit the dusty earth again, skinning her elbow, both knees and her chin. Only a groan escaped Hermione's dust covered lips. Above her, Pansy was giggling as if what had just happened was the funniest thing in the world.

"Stupid Mublood always getting in the way, aren't you?"

She prodded her in the side with her booted foot, and Hermione wondered why Pansy Parkinson seemed so…embittered. She pushed herself up on her hands, scrambling forward, away from the woman who held her wand aloft. Her heart pounded inside her chest.

_Do they really all hate us this way? __How can anyone hate without reason?_

"You think you might want a duel?" Pansy was mocking now, calling after her gleefully. "How would you fight me, Mudblood? With your hands?"

Pansy laughed cruelly and twirled her wand with nimble fingers.

"Hmm…let's see what else might be fun," she murmured suggestively before leaning down over Hermione's prone, yet still struggling form.

For the second time in only over a month, the curly haired brunette began to writhe in burning pain, just as Pansy whispered, '_crucio_' in a voice that perhaps a lover would use. Hermione could see the rage in those violet eyes just before her own fluttered shut in pain. Closing them tightly, she stilled herself with determination. She would not scream.

_I won't scream. Won't scream. I won't. I won'twon'twon't-_

The quiet courtyard, with its sun baked ground and stale hot air, was suddenly filled with the sound of tormented screaming.

The rest of the world, the Potter family, all of it – was gone. Instead, Hermione saw stars – stars that burned behind her closed eyelids and lit up the darkness. Darkness that was riddled in pain, and the pain seemed to grow, to unfold like some sort of hellish flower, so that soon enough she felt like her nerve endings were raw and on fire.

Hermione did not even know that the screams were her own until suddenly she could breathe again. It was as if just as suddenly as the pain had come, she was free of it, and lay on the hot ground, limp. Her tear smeared eyes opened and a wretched sound escaped her, and only then was she aware that she was on her back, staring up at the deep blue sky through a watery haze. Her whole body burned and she couldn't move, not even to check on Ginny and the children, or to find out where Pansy was.

Hermione knew she needed to gather her bearings so she could face whatever Pansy had planned for her next. Trying to help James would cost her dearly, but she was more than willing to pay the price. She rolled over on the ground, coughing weakly, expecting Pansy to laugh and mock her once again. But what she heard was a commanding voice – a voice very familiar – and undeniable. It stirred fear in her pain weakened heart.

But what made Hermione sick with shame was the fact that along with the fear, it stirred _hope_ within her.

Hope?

_How can I put hope in Draco Malfoy? How could I even think something like that? _

"Parkinson!"

A bark – no – more than a bark, really. A command that dared to be defied.

"Take the blood traitor and the children to the kitchens. We're short handed today."

Hermione, only vaguely aware of Lily's soft crying, tried to move, to shift on the dusty, hard ground. But she couldn't.

"Mudblood, you get up."

And just like she had at the Weasley's decimated flat a month ago, Hermione struggled to follow orders given by a man whom she hated. But her body refused, torture having spent her completely. Her eyes were still wet with tears of pain and she opened her parched mouth to speak.

"I…I-I can't."

Her words were hoarse and thick. Her eyes watered once more.

This time, the tears were not from pain. This time she cried because she was ashamed of her weakness, of the fact that these others had such control over her, and that she was nothing – just a silly little mudblood they were going to play with until they decided to kill her. She cried because in this new world, she didn't have the strength to move.

And it shamed her to have to _say _she couldn't.

Hermione watched, helpless to shrink back, as Malfoy reached down and yanked her forward, on her feet, pulling – pulling hard – and for a moment she felt she was going to be sick. The dizziness was overwhelming, and she bent over, trembling, holding back her meager breakfast, afraid of shaming herself even more. The sun beat down mercilessly, and Hermione wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with a trembling hand, and only then did she stand up straight, her brown eyes haunted with pain and helplessness.

_No. I won't be weak. It's what he wants, and I won't allow him to break me.__ I won't show him I fear him. I won't ever hope in him, I won't._

The thought renewed her, and with that Hermione lifted her chin, giving him a glare. Nothing. There was nothing in those eyes, and nothing in his expression which alluded to what he was thinking. That was, if he was thinking anything at all.

He simply stared at her coldly.

"Go."

Malfoy had stepped behind her and with a rough shove she stumbled forward across the courtyard, moving away from the rest of the compound, towards the long drive in the distance. Hermione moved mechanically, her limbs obeying him, even as her heart and mind raged against him. The others who happened to be about pretended that they hadn't seen what had happened, and acted like she didn't exist. The wiry haired witch floated across Hermione's weary conscience once again.

_We're all dead, don't you worry._

Behind the large building that housed the kitchens stood a smaller building made of brick and stone, and it was here that Malfoy stopped her, yanking roughly on her tattered skirt.

"Maybe a day without food and water will remind you that you're not in charge here, you dimwitted wench."

His words were uttered in a serpentine like fashion, his eyes narrowing into glittering slits, a storm raging in their depths.

"I have enough trouble keeping people in line here without you picking fights with Pansy Parkinson!"

He shoved her behind the building where she could see a small, wooden door.

Hermione was hot, tired, in pain and humiliated. Yet something in her still rebelled and before she could stop herself, the words slipped from her mouth.

"I wasn't picking a fight!" she shot back heatedly. "I was defending a child! She was trying to hurt James!"

She stared at him, her breathing hitched and uneven, and he gave her a shove which sent her flying backwards against the building, the cold of the brick seeping into her bones. At least this felt good. Before she could gather her bearings, or even manage a proper breath, he was in her face. Hermione was startled and more than a bit uncomfortable, although something in the pit of her stomach lurched. His gaze was undeniable, and she couldn't muster the effort to tear her eyes away. She had never taken the time to even half notice him when they had been at school together, but surely she would have remembered a gaze like his. Certainly, something so commanding, something so…so beyond what was happening would have caught her attention before! But now-

Malfoy was evil. Heartless. A Death Eater.

_That mark. He is as ugly inside as that mark on his forearm. _

Hermione trembled even as he began to speak, his words slow and deliberate. His wand came up to press against her cheek. Hard.

"I know you're not deaf or retarded. So you listen to me, and you listen well."

Hermione shivered as his breath tickled her hair, and his warning was emphasized by a sharp smack of his wand against her cheek. She winced but he refused to let her move away from him, shaking her with each of his next words.

"_She_ is in charge here. What_ she_ says is what goes. There's no arguing with her, no fighting back. It's not your place to speak, argue, or to even talk back unless we say so. You are nothing, do you understand me? How _dare_ you even consider crossing her?"

Malfoy's gray eyes flashed hatefully and Hermione flinched, but she didn't respond. She refused to acknowledge his words, and this gave her a sense of satisfaction much like what she had felt the night she had lied to him before he had taken her wedding ring.

She could see the beginnings of a sneer cross his pale face and she found herself distracted by the fact that somehow, he wore it well.

"Nothing to say?"

His words were a sibilant murmur, and the look on his face infuriated Hermione so much so she felt herself quiver for a moment.

"At least I'm not afraid to be honest!" she challenged. "I don't hide behind Pansy Parkinson's sadistic skirts, or have my little team of heartless hit wizards do my bidding. You always were a coward, weren't you?"

Hermione could see that her words had finally elicited a response from Malfoy; he grew pale and his grip on her shoulders slackened. She grew bolder.

"That's right, Malfoy. I remember that day at Hogwarts when your parents _begged_ you to join them and you went. You went even though you weren't sure, were you? Afraid of daddy, weren't you?"

Her eyes blazed with triumphant hatred.

"I don't care if you're afraid of Pansy. I don't bloody care if you're afraid of the whole world. I'm _not!_ I don't care what _you_ think."

His face flared with color and he let out a strange yelp. Before Hermione could think, his hand came up, and his palm connected with her cheek.

The smack was hard – the crack was louder than it should have been. At least, in Hermione's ears, which were ringing. Her face hummed with a sort of numbing pain and she suddenly felt a trickle of blood along the corner of her mouth, her hand coming up to cover it quickly. She wondered how hard he had actually hit her, for she was too numb to actually think.

Her eyes, which had welled up with tears of pain and surprise, turned up to lock with his defiantly.

Then her own hand came up and she reared back, giving as good as she had gotten.

* * *

><p>For a moment, Draco thought everything had been going well. For a moment, he thought bringing back the Weaselette and her insignificant offspring had been the right thing – for he could see the joy in Granger's eyes, the light that was <em>still<em> there, like a fire that refused to die. Yes, for a moment, it had been worth it.

But then, everything had gone horribly wrong and now he stood there, and watched with disbelief and hidden amazement that she had the nerve to lift her hand against him. The smack stung impossibly, and his own hand came up to his face, his grey eyes widening. Her face was bright pink – from the smack, the heat and her anger. Her scraped chin was turned up defiantly and her brown eyes snapped like viciously.

Draco felt himself explode suddenly.

"You hit me, you stupid bitch!"

"You hit me first!"

Her outcry was high pitched, angry, tinged with self righteousness. He watched her fall back, slack against the building, as if all her strength had gone into that one smack and she was withered once more. Whatever sudden defiance she had been imbued with was gone now.

"You deserved it," he hissed against her face. "How dare you?"

Hermione refused to look at him.

"I deserved it?" she asked bitterly. "After I did _nothing_ wrong? I thought those parents of yours raised you better, Malfoy. You're supposed to be higher class, or am I wrong about that? Aren't you purebloods the epitome of perfection? What with your impeccable manners and breeding? Didn't daddy ever tell you not to hit a woman?"

Her voice mocked him, dripping with hatred.

Draco felt increasing anger boiling within the pit of his stomach, and every inch of him stiffened with the confrontation, although he fought to stay cold and disconnected. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed this girl, this _Mudblood_, would ever raise her voice and hand against him. It was impossible. In this new world, it didn't _happen._ And yet it _had._

"You're right. A wizard should never raise a hand against a woman. But you're not a woman. You're a Mudblood. You're filth. You're _nothing."_

He glared at her coolly, without emotion. Staring down at her like the nothing she was. He watched as she lifted her eyes up towards him, but looked away not wanting to look at her right then. She continued, her voice broken.

"That's what you say!" she cried out. "But I'm still human! I still have feelings! I can't help what I was born anymore than you can! Blood status can't dictate someone's humanity! You can't be mad enough to think that!"

It was then that made the unfortunate mistake of looking at her.

Draco had prided himself on his self-control, and he thanked God for it now. For, had he not been well practiced in such things, he would have gasped. Nothing had prepared him for the look of total devastation, helplessness and _pleading_ that waited for him in the depths of those brown eyes.

She was crying.

He shoved away from her then, almost violently, and then yanked open the door of the storage cellar. Everything in him wanted her gone – for she made him feel things he didn't want to. Guilt was unacceptable. It just was. He wouldn't feel it. He would fight it.

"Shut up!"

He had meant it as a warning, but Draco heard the sound of his own voice, and it was hoarse and weak.

She would not, however, grant him such a favor. Her cinnamon colored eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

"You could have killed me the day you saw me on the street. Why didn't you? You could have killed me the night you raided our flats, but you didn't! You could have stood by and allowed Pansy to destroy me in the courtyard, but here I am! Doesn't that define your humanity? Doesn't that make us the same? I can't just stand by while they torment children!"

Tears oozed out of eyes that were impossibly expressive, and Draco felt himself trembling on the edge of a breakdown, because the truth was staring him in the face, and he just couldn't face it. Not now. Maybe, not ever.

"I told you to shut up!" he shrieked. "I'm nothing like you! Don't you dare compare yourself to me!"

Hermione stumbled backwards with the force of his vehemence, towards the small wooden door of the storage building.

"They're children!" she cried out painfully, still fighting. "Helpless, poor children! How can I stand back and allow her to hurt James like that? After everything the Weasleys have done for me?"

The tears had turned to sobbing, and she choked on her words. Draco felt disgust well up from within him, but that disgust was colored with something else. Something he refused to acknowledge.

"You're nobody's savior!"

He realized he had screamed only after the words had tumbled from his mouth, and then there was a heavy silence between them, the only sound being his uneven breathing.

Control. He needed control.

A breath. Another one. Just like before.

Draco didn't know why she had gotten under his skin, why her words and pleas seemed to touch a part of himself he was unable to protect. He felt himself grow angrier because he couldn't stop himself from _caring._

"Get in there. You'll pay for what you've done. For everything you've done."

He watched as she stumbled through the small door and turned around, staring at him in silence, in pleading. She was no longer the woman she had been a second ago. Her eyes begged for his help, and Draco was both horrified and stunned at his own reaction, which he quickly hid, for it would have done him no good.

He had thought it would be fun to break her in – to see her cry – but now, it was as if all the pleasure was gone from it. Nothing remained but bloody _guilt._

He slammed the door shut without another word. His face stung. His heart raced. He hurried back towards the alienage, wondering why the look in those eyes had made him want to _apologize._

She was a stupid bint. She was nobody's savior. His heart twisted strangely within him. Although, perhaps they had more in common than he had originally believed, and denied with such vehemence. Her words echoed in his mind like a terrible, broken record.

_You could have killed me the night you raided our flats, but you didn't! You could have stood by and allowed Pansy to destroy me in the courtyard, but here I am! Doesn't that define your humanity?_

In spite of what she had just said, Draco knew he, too, was nobody's savior.


	9. Chapter 9

_Shout out to all my anon reviewers – I wish I could reply personally. And thanks to all the new people kind enough to share their thoughts. I'm, as always, thrilled that you are all reading. Here you go – maybe Draco is a savior after all. But not the kind we're used to. Warning – some uncomfortable imagery in this chappie. At least, I think so._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER NINE<p>

* * *

><p>The next day dawned clear, without a cloud in the sky. The sun, a large ball of buttery yellow in a cerulean sky, beat down on the earth relentlessly. It was hot - an irritating kind of hot that was as sticky as the clothes on everyone's backs. There was no breeze, not a sign of relief, and the sun made its trip along the wide sky, wrapping the world in a blazing array of light.<p>

Hardly anyone moved back and forth through the alienage that day, hardly a bird flew across the brilliant sky.

And, locked in a small stuffy storage room, Hermione Granger Weasley lay helpless, shunned by all those whom she had reached out to help when they had needed it. They knew what had happened, but the battle between the right thing and fear had long been lost. To fear.

* * *

><p>Ginny stared at Pansy Parkinson, horrified. The other woman sat at a massive desk inside an office which was blessedly cool, as it to spite the heat of the day outside. It was the main office in a building nearest the road leading to the city, and it had been dubbed the official's headquarters.<p>

Ginny's eyes were wide with horror.

"She'll die in there, and she didn't do anything wrong!"

The woman in uniform merely glanced up, a blasé look flickering across her hardened features, making her violet eyes flash. Ginny's heartfelt plea seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"Let her be an example, then. No one crosses me, or any of those who work for me."

Her expression was one of boredom, and then she looked back down at the paperwork on her desk, her smooth, dark hair shining under the faint overhead lights.

Ginny stared in shock and horror, and her fist came up to her mouth to hold in a gasp.

"P-please. What happened was my fault. I-I'll…take her punishment!"

Ginny watched as Pansy put down the pen she had been holding, and looked back up at her, letting out sigh of long suffering. Her expression was one of barely veiled disgust.

"I've no interest in punishing you. She will be released at sundown, as planned. Now, if you don't mind, I have too much work to do."

Ginny stared, shocked. That was it – no arguing, no pleading, nothing. She took a few steps back, her eyes still trained on the tyrant behind the desk, a woman who looked just like any other woman sitting at any other desk in any other office. But she wasn't just a woman – she was everything evil incarnate that Ginny had ever imagined.

Cruel, heartless, unyielding, sadistic…

_Hermione's going to die!_

Her eyes filled with tears of rage and injustice.

The children were waiting right outside Pansy's office, sitting in three chairs obediently, and their eyes turned up towards their mother when she emerged.

"Is 'Mione coming back now?"

Lily's voice caused Ginny's breath to catch in her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty, but found it even more difficult still, to answer her.

"I don't know. But I'm going to try and make sure she's all right."

Unable to say more, Ginny gently led her children from the forsaken building, trying to be calm for them, but falling apart inside. The sunlight was so bright, they squinted, and just like before, Ginny was horrifically aware of the heat. The relentless sunlight.

_Oh, Hermione. I'm so, so sorry._

Justin had told Ginny about what he had heard that morning. He had told her about the whisperings during the night, the worries that Hermione had been punished by being locked in the storage house without food and water. And on a day like today?

She fought a difficult battle with her tears. Suddenly, she stopped, a flicker of hope causing her heart to skip a beat. From the corner of her eye, she had seen him, his hair brilliant in the sunlight. A halo, almost.

_Quite the irony, that the devil wears a halo._

Ginny shuddered, pausing in the center of the courtyard, her children stopping and turning to watch her quizzically. She took a breath, and took Lily's and Albus' hands in her own, motioning her oldest to follow.

Desperate, she moved towards Malfoy, not sure what she would say, but knowing that she had to do something…anything- or Hermione would die.

He was leaning against the building that served food to all who were stuck living in the alienage, and when he spotted her and the children, Ginny saw a flicker of something pass across his aristocratic features. She stopped, her hands locked tightly together, at a loss for words. He beat her to them.

"Move on. You know supper isn't for another hour. No loitering."

Ginny peered up into his face and for some reason, she sensed a tension there that should not have been. Swallowing hard, she spoke.

"You have to help her."

The words were a barely choked out plea. Her eyes bore into his, and the tension in his face grew, something in the depths of his unforgiving eyes flashing with light. Perhaps it was irritation, or perhaps, something else. Ginny had no time to think on it.

"She's going to die."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and Ginny would have sold her soul to know what he was thinking. Her last words were a whisper. He was most likely her last hope.

"Please."

* * *

><p>Hermione's eyes flew open with a jolt. Someone was coming – she sensed it, but could do nothing in preparation.<p>

She was laying on the floor of the storeroom, soaked in her own sweat, the heat around her heavy with the stench of urine. For a moment, she was disoriented, until the pain of the previous day came rushing back at her, rendering her shocked and terrified.

_How long have I been here?_

That, she did not know.

A part of Hermione wished she had died yesterday afternoon, for everything hurt. Her poor body was too weak for even movement, and her face was still tender where Malfoy had slapped her. Her mouth was sandpaper dry, and she detected the stale, metallic taste of dried blood. To her left, she could see a faint light creeping in under the wooden door, and the faint chirping of what she thought was crickets.

So, it was nearly evening.

_Why can't I just die? I want to die!_

Hermione had fallen into a pain riddled sleep and had awakened that morning to an incredible heat that only grew worse as the day lengthened. She had lain there for hours unmoving, glad that at least, she had gotten a respite from the torture of the previous day, but soon enough, the heat of the day and the need to relieve herself had grown much too insistent.

Having to crawl to the remotest corner of the small room and relieving herself there had been humiliating, but there had been no other choice. Afterwards, Hermione had crawled back towards the door, lying close to it in hopes of getting a breeze on what she soon found was a stale and dead day. The heat and the burning thirst that replaced the need to go to the bathroom had been too much, and finally, blackness had come to end her torture.

It was footsteps that had awakened Hermione, and she stirred then, moving her weary head on the dirty ground, her mouth too parched to even make a sound. When she tried to sit up, she found it impossible, for all her strength was gone. Even when she tired to muster up the anger that had helped her before, she found that she had nothing left from which to _hone_ that anger. She was completely spent.

The door that Hermione was lying next to opened, letting in a faint rustling of sweet evening air. She opened her eyes, hoping for salvation. What was there, however, caused her heart to plummet.

He stood facing her, the fading light of the sun at his back, casting his face into sunset shadows.

She knew it was Malfoy – she could tell by the halo of silvery-white hair that framed a face in the shadows. He stood there, staring down at her, and she likened him to some sort of dark angel, although that was the furthest thing from the truth. He was as black as the mark on his forearm, and nothing would change that. He was branded forever, just as she was.

Death Eater. Mudblood. That's all that mattered now.

"Get up."

His voice was fuzzy in her ears. But Hermione was unable to move, to speak, to do anything but lie there, her eyes turned up towards him in supplication. For a moment, she could see him clearly, and then, everything went fuzzy and faded altogether. She hoped she would never awaken again, but in some strange way, she was glad to hear his voice. It meant she would not die alone.

* * *

><p>Draco decided in that moment, that he hated Ginny Potter nearly as much as he hated Mudblood Granger. But not as much as he hated <em>himself <em>for caving to this incredible nonsense. Draco was well aware that he should not have been there, checking on the Mudblood, because this was her punishment, this was what she _deserved,_ but somehow, he had convinced himself that he would not have her death on his hands.

That was it, because, surely, he didn't care for her. Sure, that fucking_ smile_ reminded him too much of all the goodness that he had been given a long time ago, but that wasn't reason enough for his conscience to rear it's ugly head, was it? Draco didn't know, but either way, he found himself standing over Granger's limp body in the shadowy storage room.

She wasn't moving. In the darkness, Draco couldn't see what was wrong with her, if anything. The room was stuffy – too stuffy – and stank of urine and sweat.

_Merlin's beard._

Crouching down, he reached out to help her yet again, feeling a flicker of guilt.

Draco checked himself – outraged at the fact that his emotions seemed to do whatever they wanted – and he stopped moving.

_Get a grip, Draco. __It's not like her death is going to be on your hands. Get her some bloody water, make her drink it, send her on her way, and then you can forget any of this stupidity ever happened. But don't you feel guilty. There's nothing to feel guilty about!_

He took a deep, shaking breath. Guilt was a pointless emotion, and only a fool would feel it. He had taken years to master control over it, and now was not the time for that sort of nastiness to be the unwelcome guest.

A strange sound issued from the back of his throat when his fingers wrapped around her thin arm. She was burning up. Draco stopped, something icy slithering in the pit of his stomach, and then the snapshot of his son-

"Get up," he hissed, this time his voice colored with shades of panic.

He forgot to try and control his guilt, his emotions.

Was she dying? Had he inadvertently killed her? The truth was, Pansy would most likely have killed her the previous afternoon, but Draco himself had only meant to punish her. He felt a frisson of fear scurry up his spine, and it made him shiver suddenly. He blinked, his eyes burning as he stared down at her.

_Why should I give a grindy__low's ass if she lives or dies? She's nothing to me. She's nothing to anyone. She's nobody's concern, nobody's love, nobody's girl. She's a mudblood. And I don't really care. I don't. I can't. I wouldn't. I won't. _

Granger moved, a sigh escaping her.

Without thinking, Draco dragged her out of the darkened storeroom and into the evening sunset. Even swathed with brilliant reds, oranges and pinks the sun created on the journey towards the distant horizon, her face was ashen; a strange, frightening gray color. He noticed the sweat that had dried in her hair and along her clammy, fevered face. She looked horrid – worse than anyone Draco had seen in a long time.

Dead. She was nearly dead.

_Let her die. They want you to, and you don't really care, do you? What's another life when you've already taken so many?_

He had just convinced himself to turn on her, to run and never look back, when her eyes opened. Those eyes caused him to feel something, just like they had that first time, in the streets.

_Bloody hell. _

Draco willed his fingers to stop trembling as he fumbled for his canteen, but it was in vain. Moving quickly, using the waning sunlight as a guide, he brought the bottle to her lips.

"Drink," he whispered roughly, eyes wide as he knelt down next to her, pulling her limp head into his lap. "Drink."

He stared, horrified, when at first those ochre eyes stared up at him dumbly.

_Merlin's sodding ass__ cheek, what if I've killed her?_

"Drink, damn it!"

He realized that the demand was most likely falling on deaf ears, and the insistence only due his fear that she would die because of him – and he didn't know if he could handle that. Draco considered sending up a plea to whatever God existed when suddenly with a strange, raspy sound, she opened her mouth.

And drank.

She drank in long, parched gulps, choking, coughing, but not letting up on the canteen, her hands gripping it weakly. It slipped then and she moaned, but Draco moved forward to hold it for her as she pulled the water in greedy gulps. He felt weak-kneed with relief watching her drink. When the canteen began to slip once more, Draco held it so that she wouldn't have to, his fingers wrapping around it securely. As he stared down at her warily, one of her hands wrapped around his own – and he was aware of how soft her skin was, how tiny and delicate her fingers were. Draco found himself gazing at that hand, pondering over how many it had reached out to help. How many lovers it had touched, and how many tears it had wiped away. He thought impossible, crazy thoughts.

As his eyes travelled along the length of the fingers that gripped his own so securely, he decided somewhere in the back of his mind that, had she not been a Mudblood, he would have found her touch comforting.

Draco was glad that his thoughts were still…his own, for he wasn't comfortable with them, and he was puzzled and unsure what was going on in his mind anymore.

Behind him, the sun began to set on a horizon of purples and pinks. It was nearly nightfall. He looked away from her momentarily to stare up at the darkening sky, glad for the coming night. Then, he watched as she drank until the canteen was empty, and only then did her fingers loosen from around Draco's, falling to her side listlessly, and startling him from his confusing thoughts.

Draco stared down at her, waiting; wondering what would happen if they caught him like this. She was so small, burning up with fever, so helpless…

_Gods, if they knew…_

He wouldn't let them know, that's all. This would be a one time thing, and the next time her stupid mouth got her into trouble he'd let her die. Yes, he'd let her die.

Draco's eyes flickered over her small body and the tiny hands lying limply on the dark, dusty ground, and he prodded her.

"Up."

She didn't move, her eyes having fluttered closed, and she still burned up, burned a high fever, so hot that he could feel her through his uniform. Her breathing was even, but too shallow to be called normal. Somehow, he knew that. He knew she wasn't all right.

He couldn't leave her there – she was too sick – but neither could he risk being seen with her, for then they would think him a fool. They would kill her; put her out of her misery. Once more Draco prodded her, this time with growing insistence.

"Look, you have to move. Do you hear me? You have to move."

She twitched slightly and moaned, but would not move.

_She can't bloody move! __You killed her, Draco,_ the voice in his mind whispered.

She was lying there just like-

He got to his feet, staring down at her in shock, and all she did was lie there. The panic, which had abated a little when she had begun to drink, closed in on him, causing his heart to race and his palms to sweat.

_Just a Mudblood, that's all. That's all she is. If she dies, who cares? I don't. _

Draco swallowed hard, staring down at her in poorly veiled terror, unable to believe such a lie.

She was like a rag doll when he lifted her, hoisting her in one fell swoop, because she was so light. Her head fell back, and that impossibly curly hair hung over his arm, her own arms swinging at her sides as if she had been a puppet who lost her puppeteer.

"_Lumos_," he whispered and watched as his wand burst into light.

He then looked towards the shadow swathed courtyard and the darkened buildings beyond it. He knew that all those who were forced to stay within the alienage would not help this girl – in spite of everything she had done for _them_. They feared Pansy too much, they feared punishment and death. If he was to find help, he would need to find Potter.

And in the meantime, he would risk Granger dying on him.

_I should have just made Potter do this,_Draco thought with irritation.

But wishing he had done something he hadn't was futile, and when he reached the fencing that surrounded the courtyard, Draco put her down.

"_Aguamenti_."

Draco found himself surprised over recalling a conjuring spell that he had always thought would be so _useless,_ but he felt a sense of triumph at the sight of pure, clear water gushing from the tip of his wand.

Stumbling and falling to his knees, Draco yanked his sweaty uniform jacket off and used it to make a cool compress for Granger's forehead, though each application seemed to help little, for her fever burned so high. She lay prostrate on the dusty ground as the night fell around them and by the light of his wand, she looked even worse than before.

His heart thudded steadily within him, but he felt dizzy, strange.

When she stirred, moaning something unintelligible, he reached down to brush water logged curls away from her overly fevered face. She jerked at the touch of his icy fingers to her heated flesh and moaned again. When still she did not stir, he finally got up, heaving a sigh.

Then he turned, rushing towards the main building in the alienage.

_I'm going to be so bloody sorry I did this._

But he did it anyway.

* * *

><p>Ginny spotted Malfoy long before he saw her in the throng of people that milled around the cots in an unruly mess. He was tall and rigid, holding himself steady amidst people who cowered in fear and uncertainty. And those eyes, cold and sharp, as they searched for someone in the crowd.<p>

_He's looking for me! __Hermione! Please, let her be all right!_

The children sensed Ginny's sudden alarm, and watched as their mother stood and pushed her way through the small spaces between the cots. The went to follow her, but Justin held them back, gently leading them to their cots, promising that their mother would return soon, that she was going to find Hermione.

Ginny moved with purpose, standing in front of him, her eyes round with anxiousness.

"'Mione?" she breathed.

"The courtyard," he growled, unable to meet her eyes, that strange, distant look on his too pale face remaining intact. "If you know what's good for her, go. Go now. Go, and don't speak of this to anyone."

Ginny moved without hesitation, not wanting to waste another moment, feeling her throat close and her breathing hitch. Once she reached the doorway, she watched for a second as the last bit of orange sun disappeared over the horizon, and the moonlight bathed the courtyard completely.

He was behind her, and she nearly jumped when she realized she was not alone.

"There."

His wand lit up as he pointed it in the eastern direction. Ginny took four running steps towards a dark, crumpled form lying in one of the corners, and then spun around, breathlessly.

"Thank you."

She didn't know _why _she was thanking this man. He had tormented her husband, brother and her best friend. He had done nothing but make all their lives miserable, and nothing, not the changing world, not time, had made him different. Or had it?

She searched his face and saw a flicker of change there when she offered her thanks – something he fought to hide. Ginny swallowed, catching her breath.

"Thank you. You…probably saved her life."

He grunted, his face twisting into a familiar scowl, as if determined to be hateful.

"She's not saved yet," her uttered without emotion and it was too dark to see into those strange, distant eyes. "And I'm no one's savior, Potter. Don't ever let her think that. Don't ever let her believe I saved her."

_Or that I'm mad, because I'm actually considering the fact that for some inexplicably irritating reason, I actually might care-_

He moved, head high, into the darkness and Ginny turned around, rushing towards her fallen friend.

Under the cover of the warm, velvet night that had fallen, Weaslette never saw him stop and turn again, watching anxiously to see if Granger would survive.

Draco told himself he simply didn't care, but the image of the fallen, fevered woman who had made lodging in his arms would not leave him. Her face, her eyes…they stayed with him and he did not find peace until Potter's widow lifted the Mudblood's head, resting it against her bosom.

Granger stirred. Potter whispered something.

Then, that _smile._ Faint, but very real in the moonlit darkness. In that smile, he felt the familiar flicker of hope within him.

_She'll live._

And only then, did he disappear.


	10. Chapter 10

_I am overwhelmed at the responses to my last chapter – thank you all from the bot__tom of my heart. You keep me motivated! This week is a busy one; it might be longer than a few days after this update. We shall see. And now – the next installment, in which we see just what Pansy's jealousy is capable of. If you don't hate her after this, you won't hate her, ever. Writing this made me sad – be warned, the chapter contains descriptions of violence.  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TEN<p>

It took Hermione a full week to feel like herself again, although she had long ago forgotten what it felt like to be _well. _But, as soon she was able to sit up, walk and take food and water once more, they sent her back to work. Somehow, she survived the torture that had been inflicted on her.

There had been no mercy, and she knew when she looked into the faces of those who were still at the alienage, that they would never again look at her in the same way. She was no longer Hermione Granger Weasley – she was now the stupid girl who had stood up to Pansy Parkinson to save a little boy with the _pureblood mother_ from torture – and none of them would ever remember that her act had been one of kindness. They would only remember how _stupid _she had been. How _traitorous_ she was.

The women, well, they were the worst.

Hermione endured the silence that reigned when she walked into the sleeping quarters, or even when she was on duty in the kitchens and laundry rooms. She also endured their whispers, and long after night had fallen and they were all squished into their cots, Justin would tell her what they were saying.

Some whispered that she had only survived her punishment because a Ministry official had taken pity on her. Others whispered about what a whore she was, that, surely, she had taken to bed with someone to get such preferential treatment. It pained Hermione to know that there were Muggle-borns just like she, who wished to see her dead simply because most that crossed the Ministry were punished by death, and she had been allowed to live.

It didn't seem fair.

The only ones who knew the truth were Hermione, Ginny and Justin. And, of course, the man who had saved her. Ginny had sworn Hermione to secrecy and had divulged the occurrences of the night Hermione had nearly died – and for weeks after that day, and in spite of her curiosity and disbelief, she had chosen to avoid him.

_Draco Malfoy._

The argument and his outburst were the last vivid recollections in Hermione's mind. In spite of his vehemence that she had been no one's savior, he had taken pity on her. He had not allowed her to die, even though a part of Hermione had wished for it. Still, no matter what she had _wanted, _Hermione knew that Pansy Parkinson had intended to kill her that day in the courtyard, and Draco Malfoy had stopped her. Not only that, but he had saved her life when in fact, he had no apparent reason to do so.

_Why?_

The question both fascinated Hermione, and scared her. Her life since Harry's death had been a huge game of Russian roulette when it came to whom she could and could not trust – and the idea that a Death Eater had-

The thought boggled Hermione's mind. But she tried not to question it, for she was alive.

Not that being alive was much better, really. She was now a pariah even amongst those whom the Ministry had deemed worthless. She was lower than the lowest. Her own didn't even want her anymore. To the purebloods, she was rubbish. To the muggle-born she was a traitor. She traveled alone now, truly alone.

* * *

><p>Hermione saw Ginny give her a wary glance as she scraped a bit of leftover food from one of the tin plates they used for supper. Dish duty was never something she loathed for most of the time, there were no leftovers – people here were starved, and to waste food was unheard of. She much preferred doing the dishes than fixing supper for the Ministry officials, for the manner of food available to <em>them<em> whilst everyone _else_ starved was a sin. And she learned after only one time never to sneak food. Ever.

Justin had his hands elbow deep in sudsy water as he took the plate from her.

Behind her, Ginny's three children were dutifully drying the dishes. Time here had taught them to speak only when spoken to, and in this way the Ministry had subdued them, sucking the life out of them just as much as any dementor.

Ginny paused mid wipe, looking at Hermione with sympathy.

"Does it hurt much?"

Her voice was muted, and her eyes flickered over the large bruise that rose up along Hermione's neck – the latest in punishments inflicted by Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione shook her head pensively, not wanting to admit that the bloody thing _hurt_. But of course, Pansy had _meant_ it to hurt.

Justin winced at Hermione's expression.

"She's horrid," he muttered as he finished wiping one of the tin plates and set it neatly on a stack he had started.

Hermione's brown eyes expertly avoided the others around her.

"It's nothing. I'm used to it."

Sad thing it was, but no less true.

Pansy Parkinson was a physical presence within the alienage at most hours, and although she had never touched Ginny or the children again, Hermione feared that it was only because she had been _ordered_ not to. And she also feared that Pansy would, at some point, make Justin the target of her twisted whims. It was only a matter of time. Pansy took a strange pleasure from causing Hermione pain, which she managed to do quite frequently. Hermione shamefully wore the bruises, scratches and contusions along her skin like delicate tattoos that told the tale of how much she was hated.

There was a long silence before Justin spoke again.

"It's because…of what happened, you know?"

Hermione looked up, startled.

"What?"

He paused and swallowed, putting down the last plate carefully.

"What happened that day, you know, in the courtyard? Pansy would have killed you, and Draco Malfoy interfered."

Hermione looked down swallowing back a reply, but she checked herself, for it would do no good speaking things she herself didn't understand. Her eyes were trained on soapy, gray water in the large bin that sat in front of her, and her teeth caught her bottom lip.

"Blimey, don't you hear them whispering, 'Mione? They say that he favors you. And Pansy hates that, because she wants him to favor her. She's bloody jealous, and it's rather funny, isn't it? Wager she never thought she'd have to compete with a Mudblood."

Hermione's fingers gripped the washtub.

"It's not a competition," she muttered. "And he doesn't favor me!"

Even the thought perturbed Hermione, and caused a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The notion that she was somehow indebted to Draco Malfoy was one she couldn't shake, and the gratitude she felt towards him was matched only by her fear – the fear of what he might want in return. Perhaps not now, but someday. Someday, he would want something, and Hermione would be in no position to turn him down.

"Leave her be."

Ginny's soothing voice broke into the tense silence, and Hermione felt herself release a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. She felt Ginny's hand on her elbow.

"Come on, let's get some sleep," she suggested.

"I didn't mean to upset anyone," Justin called from behind them as they left the kitchens. "I guess what I'm saying is be careful, 'Mione. Pansy's nasty without a reason. And now, she has reason to hate you."

Hermione paused at the doorway leading into the darkness outside.

"As if she could treat me worse than she already does," she murmured, not truly knowing how much worse it _would_ get.

* * *

><p>Whether he had meant it or not, Justin had put the thought in Hermione's head.<p>

_Malfoy__ doesn't favor me…does he?_

It was a question that she couldn't answer, and some part of her, that long lost schoolgirl part, the one that hungered for knowledge, refused to let it drop. And so, for the first time since her arrival at the alienage, Hermione found herself watching Draco Malfoy.

Granted, her chances to watch him were few and far between, only be mere glimpses when he happened to make rounds into the dining area when she was eating her meager meals, or for a moment she would spy him almost gliding – yes that was the word, because Malfoy didn't _walk_, it was much more _graceful_ than that – across the courtyard.

Hermione blamed Justin for her sudden focus on the blond man who was undoubtedly in charge within the alienage, although he hardly ever uttered a word. That was the strange part, she decided. Hermione couldn't quite recall when Malfoy had stopped being such a loud-mouthed prat. When they had been in school together, she remembered a snobbish, insolent boy who tended towards a biting, foul mouth. He had walked around the corridors at school as if the world revolved around him and he was entitled to something that no one else was. She had chalked it up to his conceit and had never given him more than a moment's passing thought.

But the world was different now, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he, too, was different. War changed people. Some for better, and others for worse. Hermione had always been brilliant, and when finally focused, she was able to learn much simply from _watching_ him.

He commanded silently, speaking only when necessary. Yet, in spite of that, it was clear that he was the one who held the power, just as he always had. In some ways, he was still the Malfoy she remembered from Hogwarts. Though not kind, he did not relish in the games the others played. In that, Justin hadn't been wrong, Hermione decided. Though the others were unnecessarily cruel, Malfoy was only cruel if he needed to be. It still bothered her though, that he let the others do as they pleased, knowing the consequences, and this realization stirred something within her. It only took Hermione a few moments to realize that it was _disappointment._

_And what did I expect__? He's Malfoy. Pureblooded git. Conceited prat. We all made choices, and he chose Voldemort. He chose the Dark Mark, and that says it all. Doesn't it? Why am I disappointed? It's not like I held him in any esteem._

Had she? It was moments like those that made Hermione wonder if she was going mad. Because all she could think about was the strange feeling that had overcome her the night he had held her in his arms. _Held her in his arms_ – she had never thought that he was capable of such concern. He had not let her die. He had-

He had been the only one apart from her friends and family who had shown her any kindness.

She attributed her strange new musings to the fact that in this new world, she had few friends, and the _familiarity_ of Malfoy was what seemed to be drawing her to him. That had to be it, for she could think of no other logical explanation.

_So what if he's familiar in this strange new world? I shouldn't trust him. I won't. I'm a silly girl if I think an act of kindness means he's a changed man. I don't even CARE if he's a changed man!_

Hermione felt herself flushing at her stupid thoughts. Thank Merlin that's all they were – her thoughts. Unfortunately, even though she knew the thoughts were wrong on every basic level, she had no clue how to actually _stop_ them. They flooded her mind each time she saw him. And she was beginning to hate the way she felt – the helplessness that seemed to overwhelm her when he trained those gray eyes in her direction. Fortunately, he hardly ever gave her a spare glance. Which was good. Better than good – it was as it should have been.

Draco Malfoy was not _supposed_ to be looking at her, and she, in turn was going to stop thinking about _him._

* * *

><p>It went on more or less like that for days – at first one, then two and three, and finally Hermione had lost track of how many miserable hours she had spent in the alienage. She knew only loneliness and pain – and was gladdened at least that she had Ginny and the children and Justin to keep her company.<p>

The nights were long and frightening – people came and went. The cots were never empty, however, for there were plenty of new, frightened and confused souls to replace those that the Ministry was disposing of. The days were hot and weighed on Hermione like an anvil that she could not get rid of. She filled her time with work. She tried to avoid Pansy. And she tried to ignore the hunger and thirst. Soon enough the pain of hunger felt the same as the pain of the welts and bruises.

She no longer tried to differentiate the different shades of her pain; it was all the same in the end. Hermione was only aware of one thing regarding her pain; when Draco Malfoy was around, it was never _as_ bad. He made sure of that.

Unsurprisingly, things went from bad to worse – on the hot afternoon of his day off.

* * *

><p>Hermione knew that it was better to be in a group than alone. She had learned that a long time ago from her mother and father, and then even at Hogwarts, where there had been safety in numbers. She chided herself silently when she spotted Pansy Parkinson creeping out of the shadows where she had been standing near the kitchens. Her eyes gleamed suddenly, a pair of glittering amethysts in a round, cruel face, and even though Hermione dropped her head obediently, the other woman stopped her with a hard smack of her wand to the backs of her legs.<p>

Hermione sighed inwardly. Another set of welts to add to her growing collection. These ones caused a poignant pain – both sharp and stinging. She nearly buckled under it.

"Don't you _ever_ walk by me without acknowledging me, Mudblood."

The words were nasty; they did not beg for response, and Hermione only lifted her head, her eyes beleaguered. She felt like an anomaly; was she truly a freak to be stared at so brazenly? Would they never leave her alone?

"So…I see your savior is not with you today? Venturing out alone, are you?"

The words were meant to mock, and Hermione was frozen in fear. Pansy had beaten the fight out of her weeks ago. She no longer reacted with anything but fear and meekness.

"I am alone."

Her heart had twisted with anxiousness and it nearly stopped beating when Pansy viciously yanked at her long curls, causing Hermione to cry out in pain. This pain just added to the symphony of all her others.

"I am alone," Pansy echoed, her voice merely a snarl.

She let go of Hermione's hair and forced her to spin around and face her. Hermione stared at Pansy without speaking, though something in her face infuriated the woman in uniform.

"I'd like to know what it is you think you're doing," she said then, the tone of her voice dropping to nearly one of kindness, though Hermione knew better.

This woman knew no kindness; the pain was coming – it was only a matter of when and not _if. _She dropped her head, unable to look into Pansy's hateful eyes another moment.

"I-I don't know what you mean," came her fearful whisper.

How she wished she had not decided to come out to the courtyard on her own! Pansy's wand gouged Hermione's shoulder so hard, Hermione bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

"Don't you?"

Violet eyes blazed a fire that burned hotter than that in hell.

"Tell the truth, you lying whore. Brightest witch of our year, weren't you Granger? Don't tell me that you've gone all stupid on me. Or is that a side effect of being a Mudblood?"

She laughed. Hermione was startled to realize that despite Pansy's monstrous heart, she possessed a laugh of astonishing beauty, which not even shades of hatred could hide. She tried to take a step back, to escape, even though the action was in vain. Pansy stopped her with another sharp pull of her hair.

"Is he defiling himself with you, Whore? Is that what it is, hmmm? I can't, for the life of me, imagine what any man here, or anywhere would see in _you. _Rookwood, sure. Even Flint has his fun with some of the women dragged into this shithole. But they're prettier than you. I never imagined Malfoy…"

Hermione choked on her words, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes tortuously.

"I didn't! I wouldn't!"

The achingly honest and tearful words escaped before she could bite her tongue, and Pansy's face twisted into a mask of loathing.

"Oh, really? Do you fancy yourself better than him? Draco not good enough for a Mudblood like you?"

Hermione's face lost all color, and she fought the trembling that had already begun in her fingertips. No matter what she said now, Pansy would punish her. There was no way out. Sighing, she fought the urge to break down and sob. She was sick and tired of the pain, the constant lashings, and prejudice. But there was nothing she could do.

She wondered what _he_ was doing, why he had taken the day of and left her here to the mercy of-

_No. He means nothing. He didn't mean to help me. He wouldn't willingly help me. I need to stop bloody hoping in him! There is no hope! What am I doing to myself!_

The tears came then, unchecked. She swallowed, her saliva thick and cloying.

"No-no…he would…never…"

Pansy laughed.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it, you nasty little strumpet?"

Hermione winced as she felt her shin on the receiving end of a vicious kick. Pansy glared at her triumphantly.

"As it is, he's not here to protect you, is he?"

Her whisper was gleeful as she tapped her wand against her chin, as if thinking deeply about something. Her eyes gleamed then, and she laughed once again.

"Whatsoever will I do with you, Mudblood?"

That beautiful laugher never reached Pansy's eyes, and before Hermione could take in a shaking breath, the other woman backhanded her so hard, she stumbled backwards and fell. Hard. Her teeth clacked together, and the sound rattled Hermione. She realized she had bitten into her tongue and blood flowed, metallic and heavy.

Pansy was on her in a flash, like a rabid dog.

"Beg me. Beg me not to hurt you," she whispered.

Even in her whisper there was a note of depravity. Hermione warred with herself. One part wanted to fight back. The other knew even if she did, it wouldn't change things. She stared up at Pansy unmoving, as the woman spoke hatefully.

"Beg me to spare your life."

The wand she carried lashed against Hermione's already battered flesh. This time, she could not withhold the cry that escaped her as she hit her head against the dusty ground. Pansy shoved the weaker woman onto her stomach with one savage move.

"Beg me."

Hermione felt Pansy pommel her to the back of her head and her face was smashed against the dirt. She taste of ash and mud suffocated her, for it had gotten down her throat, mixed with the blood that was already there. Her head was pounding, as if the ache was a drum that would not cease.

"P-Please. Please…d-don't hurt me. Don't kill me. Please."

A woman without a soul and conscience certainly could not feel sympathy, could she? From above her, Hermione felt Pansy grab her, this time throwing her against the ground on her back.

"You think you're so special, do you? You're nothing to him, do you hear me? Nothing! And now he's not here, and it won't matter what happens to you. Everyone hates a whore, don't they? No one really cares about you, do they?"

Hermione tried to keep from choking on the dirt and blood that coated her throat. In mere moments she was completely spent and stopped fighting, only staring up at Pansy with tear stained eyes. The other woman lifted her wand, glaring down hatefully.

"He's mine. And don't you forget it."

Hermione closed her eyes, hearing her own whimpers breaking through the strange staccato beat her heart had begun.

_I'm going to die. This time, I'm going to die._

"_Sectumsempra!"_

Pansy's malicious shriek came first, and then Hermione felt herself being torn open. Torn open to die. To waste away.

She screamed.

* * *

><p>Draco shook with rage, staring at Pansy Parkinson, her large, mahogany desk between them. It was probably quite fortuitous for her, anyway, because never before had Draco wanted to slaughter someone as much as he did Pansy. His pale face as alive with color as he screamed, barely refraining from jumping across the desk to annihilate the disgusting waste of life that stood on the other side.<p>

"I told you already! You will **NOT** go against my orders! How dare you! Do you know how long it took to clean the mess you made?"

A bloody, fucking mess. He had wondered upon first glance if there had been anything left of Granger. There must have been a God after all, if He had kept her alive through such torture. His gorge rose, and he willed himself not to retch.

To make matters worse, a cold burst of laughter came from Pansy. Stupid, amoral bitch was _laughing._

"As if I give a bloody damn!" she wailed back. "She's a Mudblood!" There was a strange, tearful edge to her voice that Draco did not understand.

Mudblood. Yes, she was a Mudblood. She was all the things that he despised, that the Ministry despised. All the things they were trying to completely eradicate. Dirty blood. Disgusting filth.

_The only light in my darkness._

Since the night of the glorious sunset, he had done nothing but think of her. Wonder about her. Watch over her. His mind fought in righteous disbelief at his traitorous heart.

_I saved her, didn't I? Why? Because she's saving me from becoming like them. She's reminding me of my past, of my son. The things I loved. She's __the one unadulterated thing in a world of corruption._

"I won't have you murdering anyone in broad daylight, do you hear me? _My_ alienage! _My _rules!"

His voice now, too, carried a strange, tearful edge. She had nearly died – he knew it. He had seen it from the look on Potter's face, the looks of horror from those who had witnessed Pansy's latest bout of fancy. He had seen her body, decimated and pale. A healer had been called in; it had been bad.

_I have to do something. Next time, Pansy _will _kill her. Crazy bitch has no qualms, does she? _

He stared at the woman before him; she was exactly what he would become if he lost all hope.

"You never cared before!" screamed Pansy, stomping her foot. "What's she matter when there have been so many others?"

Yes, what did she matter? Except that, she did. He knew she did. For some reason, not yet understood by him, she did. There were two red spots along his cheeks.

"I don't care about her!" he screamed in reply, grey eyes flashing. "I've told you before, you dumb bitch!"

Pansy fell silent, as if his outburst had drained all her emotional energy, and with a choked sound she shook her head.

"There's something about her, though, isn't there?"

Her voice was small. Draco thought that perhaps, if the woman could _feel,_ he would have taken her for hurt. But surely, someone like Pansy Parkinson had long ago forgotten how to feel. She was like Bellatrix – human shell within which evil had taken comfortable lodging. Fighting back the urge to tell her what he thought, he willed himself to calm down.

"No, you're wrong," he said simply, without emotion. The anger that had permeated the room only seconds before was gone now. In its wake remained the cold hand of indifference. "There isn't anything about her. I warn you again, you are not judge, jury and executioner. If I chose to punish, I will come see you. Remember, you are on _my_ payroll, not your own. Not my Aunt's. Mine."

Violet eyes were trained on him, but if Pansy had anything to say, she chose wisely, and remained silent. Draco looked up at her.

"She's my responsibility. Don't you worry, she's no longer your concern."

"But-"

"Leave me."

He waited, immobile, until he heard the door shut behind her, signaling that he was finally alone. When Draco looked up, all he could see was Hermione Granger, lying on the ground, her blood seeping into the summer kissed dust.

Yes, she was his concern now. And he'd have to find a way to make sure that _they_ wouldn't hurt her again. He already had an idea, his path was clear, excepting on huge roadblock. His porcelain wife, Astoria.


	11. Chapter 11

_I'm back! And in this next installment we meet Draco's wife. And Hermione's fate is decided. I'm afraid __it's not that exciting of a chapter – but it furthers some of the plot. Thanks for all your support, guys! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER ELEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>Draco watched his wife as she turned from the mirror of her vanity table to give him a look. Her eyes were colored with perturbation.<p>

"I won't go," Astoria told him in a matter of fact tone, lifting up one perfectly manicured hand which held the invitation he had given her. It had come by post just that morning.

"Are you serious?"

He raised a blond eyebrow quizzically. Her cupid bow's mouth turned down petulantly.

"I won't. Those…people. I shudder when I see them."

Astoria turned back, her tone one of finality, and lifted up a jar of one of her many skin potions. She put on quite an act, shuddering just slightly, and her voice atremble, as if she was a woman who tended towards the vapors – when in reality she was as tough as nails.

Draco stared at her, speechless for a moment. He had never in his life met a woman who was as selectively prejudiced at his wife. She made her choices by situation, and gave no serious consideration to her own hypocritical behavior. Not that he was surprised, for Astoria had always believed only in her own truth, in spite and even in face of evidence to the contrary. Even though it wasn't surprising after six years of marriage, it didn't sicken him any less.

"Those _people_ are my family! The only family I have left! And the last time I checked, you shared their views. We all do!"

Draco hardly cared about his family, especially the Lestranges, but he found satisfaction in disagreeing with Astoria, even when he _didn't_. Astoria turned around once again, a jar of orange cream in her hand, and offered him what he liked to call the simpering smile. It was as shallow as it was beautiful.

"But, Draco, it's one thing to believe in such things and another to actually…well…_do_ whatever it is you _do_ at that…Mudblood alienage you talk about so much."

Her voice had taken on a tone of snobbish disdain, and he gawked at her incredulously, as her long lashes blinked back with faked innocence. How he _loathed_ her!

"And what would you have them do? Only weeks ago you were complaining about the possibility of a Mudblood baking your favorite biscuits at the downtown bakery!"

Astoria studied her jar of cream for a silent moment in which Draco grew more impatient. It wasn't like Astoria actually _used_ her brain, so he found her bouts of silence irritating. Finally she turned her onyx eyes back up at him, setting aside the cream to stretch as if in a luxurious way. If she noticed his growing displeasure, she made no comment.

"It's that horrible aunt of yours," she decided as she stood.

Draco watched her walk across their massive bedroom in only her white, filmy knickers. There had been a time, early on in their relationship, when that had been his most favorite sight. Now, strangely somehow he was no longer really affected.

"I just don't like her. She's….downright horrid, Draco, and I don't know why I must be subjected to spending any time with her at all!"

She was rifling through her clothing casually, as if selecting the appropriate blouse and skirt was the most important act of the day. But then again, for a simpleton, everything was most likely a difficult decision.

"I'm not asking you to move into her flat!" he exclaimed. "I'm asking you to accompany me, as my wife- need I remind you- to their wedding anniversary party!"

Astoria made a little tittering sound, like a giggle but significantly more grating.

"Draco, now, do you really think they _love_ each other? I mean, surely everyone knows Bellatrix Lestrange doesn't actually know how to l_ove_?"

He stared at her, feeling heat climbing up along his neck and making his face flush. Draco knew his aunt did love; Voldemort was her one true love. Very few knew that for she did not advertise, but it was no less true. His voice held a venomous edge.

"She does _love._ Perhaps she simply married the _wrong man_."

Astoria had stepped away from the closet, holding a rather flattering red and white dress, and then focused her large, dark eyes on his flushed face.

"So we are to attend a party celebrating the marriage of two people who don't love each other? Is that right?"

The words were said carefully, just so, as if she was _actually_ considering going, even though Draco was certain that she had made her decision upon seeing the return address on the invite.

"It's not like that's something highly irregular for you, is it Astoria?"

He offered her a thin-lipped smile, and wondered how long ago it had been since he had smiled for _real. _Color swept across Astoria's beautiful alabaster cheeks, and her perfect mouth turned down into an unhappy scowl.

"It's just like you, isn't it?" she exclaimed, tossing the dress onto their unmade bed and facing him, her cheeks now rosy, and her eyes flashing. "Throwing our relationship into my face, when I've done everything you've asked me to do, and more!"

Once more he was assaulted by her idiocy, and his hands clenched together into hard, white fists.

"Really? Well, my dear, I'd love to argue all the fine points of your statement, but I fear there aren't any. I'll just agree to disagree, all right?"

Astoria's cheeks had gone from pink to a brilliant crimson. In some sick way, Draco was pleased with her distress; she had been _his_ distress for much too long, after all. Perhaps he had never taken the time to _care_ for her enough to bring it up, but it was true nonetheless. He watched as she yanked the dress from the bed and finished putting it on with jerky movements, pulling long, luscious coal black tendrils up into a sparkling comb. His eyes were focused on that hair, recalling times, many years ago, that the same sight had driven him wild with desire. Those days were gone, along with their son and their marriage. There was nothing now. There was nothing binding them excepting a magical certificate which Draco wished he could annul. Perhaps, someday. Someday when they stopped watching him and everything he did. For now, it was necessary. It was proper. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. She was the perfect trophy wife. He needed her.

Astoria picked up a glinting gold ring and proceeded to put it on her left ring finger just as she did each morning. This time, however, she hesitated, and her eyes gleamed with malice.

"I won't even bother putting on a pretend show. Stupid, bloody ring."

She slammed it hard against the vanity table with a sniff. Draco tried not to smirk.

"My dear, what you do with that ring is of no significance to me. If you like it, wear it. It means nothing to me either way."

His words were cold, distanced, and he gave her another patented tight smile. He knew she loved the ring because she had picked it out during their short engagement. He didn't love her, but Draco knew Astoria, knew the greedy, spoiled woman she tended toward being most of the time, and he knew that not wearing the ring would hurt her more than it would hurt him. Astoria glared at him hatefully, her hand wavering between the ring and her side. Like the stupid cow she was, she stubbornly refused to wear the ring she loved so much.

"I don't know why you care so much about me going to your stupid family party," she hissed, dark eyes narrowing into tiny glittering slits. "You can just take one of those floozies that you're bound to be shagging, isn't that right?"

Her eyes blazed with a heat that could have been sexy. Draco wondered how it was possible to ever have felt anything for this woman. He let out a heartless laugh.

"As if I would ever defile myself in that way, dear wife," he mocked. "Though the truth is, they would be quicker to satisfy me than you ever have."

Astoria stood up, outraged and then slapped him across the face, causing him to gasp.

"You disgust me!"

"And you, me."

He reached up to cradle his face with one hand, and suddenly he flashed back to the hot afternoon when Granger had done the same thing. Somehow, with her, he had felt something. Not just the burning pain, but something else. Something real. His recollections included passionate cinnamon colored eyes, which he hadn't been able to get out of his mind in months.

_I'm bloody mad, that's what I am!_

The thought brought him back to the dire reality. Astoria's voice rang out loudly within their room.

"Then, take one of your whores! Take a pretty one, so she can be a sparkling accessory to whatever you choose to wear. Take that Pansy Parkinson, certainly she makes no pretenses as to her desire for you. How is she in bed, Draco?"

Astoria's shrill words were cold and sharp, like well placed knives into his back, and the words angered him.

"I would rather die than take her to bed."

Astoria's eyes widened at his sudden vehemence. But instead of fighting with him, as she was often inclined, she swallowed back anger.

"Then take someone else. I don't care who, and I don't care about your stupid family gathering. Leave me out of it, and leave me alone!"

With that, Draco watched Astoria flounce off in a huff, only to lock herself in their huge bathroom, as she often did after their fights. He let out the breath he had been holding, and was thankful for the blessed silence. His wife's words still cut into his conscience, however, and so in that way he would have no peace.

_As if I would ever take Pansy to bed! Not even if she were the last woman__ on earth and I hadn't had a shag in years!_

Well, half of that was true. He had not touched Astoria since shortly after their son had passed; the truth was, he _hadn't_ wanted to touch her in years. At least, not in that way – and unlike his former mates and coworkers, Draco refused to defile himself by taking one of the Mudbloods for his pleasure. It seemed twisted, and he refused to be like _them. _And lastly, he was loath to leave Astoria, for it would leave quite a glaring stain on his reputation, and Draco wasn't keen on that. Being married was not good when one wanted to meet another woman, even if it was just for a simple shag. Amongst many other things, Draco had long forgotten what it felt like to be with a woman, to want her, and to see the reflection mirrored in her eyes.

_Bloody unfair, that's what it is. I was Slytherin's playboy only seven years ago, and now? My how the mighty have fallen._

Sighing, he slipped his uniform jacket over the white linen shirt he usually wore, and then put on his boots, glancing at himself in the mirror. Once he determined his appearance was acceptable, Draco knocked on the bathroom door curtly.

"I'll be off now."

From behind the door there was a sniff.

"Of course, don't let me stop you from going to work and doing…whatever it is you _do_."

Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring her disgusting implications.

"And don't let me stop you from sitting at home doing _nothing_. You could at least pick up the house, you know. The living room furniture hasn't been dusted since the first coming, Astoria."

There was a shuffle from behind the door before she flung it open angrily.

"Don't you tell me how to keep house, Draco Malfoy! I've been asking you to hire a maid for months! If you could get your priorities straight, maybe you wouldn't be having this problem! Besides, I dusted just last week!"

Her words were indignant exclamations.

"Indeed? Was that the day you ran a feather duster over the furniture for about five minutes until your favorite show came on the telly? Because, frankly, that's not dusting."

Her face, which had lost it's color, bloomed once more in what Draco was sure she believed to be righteous anger.

"If you want it dusted so badly, you do it! I married a Malfoy, and I refuse to do something as mundane as _dusting!_"

Draco watched her, thinking that she had fallen into his little trap quite nicely. Of course, it helped that she was impossibly daft.

"Well then, don't you worry your gorgeous head over housework then. Merlin knows you've got much more important things to do."

The words held thinly veiled disgust, but he uttered them with enough charm that it hardly mattered.

"I've hired us some help, in fact. She will start tomorrow," he revealed. "Though I do have some rules."

Astoria's eyes narrowed slightly as she slipped from the bathroom, her jewelry, minus the wedding band, adorning her neck, fingers and wrists.

"What kind of rules?" she asked suspiciously. Draco offered her only a look.

"This is my house. I pay the bills. And I chose who works for us. You have no say. She comes here tomorrow. I will have none of your fits. Do we understand each other?"

A glimmer of what, at the start of their marriage, could have been called kindness, lit up his eyes. But now, that glimmer was a sign that he merely tolerated her, and nothing more.

* * *

><p>Hermione shuddered and tried in vain not to look at her countenance in the cracked mirror that hung on the heavy cement wall in the community washroom. Her brown eyes were forcefully trained at the tiny, rusted metal sink and she willed herself not to glance up. She already knew what was waiting there. She already had every scar memorized – as if branded on her memory for all of time.<p>

_Will I never get used to looking at myself?__! Gods, it's been weeks!_

And yet, she looked, wincing at what she saw.

Her body was a painting of the war that raged between the Ministry and those they sought to exterminate. She was thin and pale, her hips jutting out in sharp angles, and her arms and legs no longer smooth and supple as they had been a long time ago. She was nearly bones now, a mere wraith of a woman where a whole and healthy one had stood before.

And the scars – white and vivid on her otherwise unblemished skin – zigzagged along her body like white lightning along a stormy summer sky. From the day she had been cursed, Hermione had begun to avoid mirrors. She had stopped undressing around the other women that shared the sleeping quarters, and she spent most of her time alone. Even now, she couldn't bear to look at herself for long, covering up her hideously scarred body with the worn and frayed towel she used for washing up.

Tears sprung up into her widened eyes and rolled down her cheeks. At least, Pansy had not touched her face. At least, she could cover up the ugliness with whatever scant clothing she was allowed. But _they_ all looked. Hermione knew it because she could feel their eyes on her. They all looked and whispered, some snickering and others giving her strange, sympathetic looks. But none would approach her, to ask if she was all right. None cared enough to make _sure_ she was. So Hermione had retreated further away from them, keeping mostly to herself apart from the time she spent with Ginny, Justin and the children. It was best that way.

For whatever reason, Pansy Parkinson had let up on the daily torture she had inflicted on Hermione prior to _that _day - the day she had given Hermione the scars. She could only guess at the reason, and because the burden of this new life had put a damper of her investigative nature, Hermione hardly cared why things happened anymore. She was only interested in making it through each day, as painlessly and as completely whole as she could.

Yes, the incident between herself and Pansy had changed Hermione. Her friends had pointed it out more than once. The jumpiness and nerves were the least of it, for Hermione sobbed in her sleep, dreaming things she could not talk about during waking hours, but the unspoken horrors plaguing her all the same. No matter how she willed herself not to dream, the nightmares would come. They were no longer of the past, but of the present. Dreams of the alienage, of dying and dead children, of the dementors, and of Pansy Parkinson, cackling as she stood over her, wand raised. There was pain in that wand, pain to be inflicted, pain and blood that would not stop. And she would cry…she would sob, she would beg for mercy…

She reached out with an index finger, touching it to the mirror and tracing the scars she could see on the sad and distant woman reflected there. As she did so, Hermione hummed under her breath, thinking for a moment that not all her dreams were nightmares. Most were nightmares, of course, but sometimes God gave her respite. Sometimes, she dreamed of _him. _He hadn't been there when Pansy had done her worst, but he had cared for her afterwards, tried to save what he could, to salvage as much as was to be salvaged. Her finger stopped it's lackadaisical tracing…

"_Dittany."_

"_What?"_

_"Essence of Dittany, Potter. Don't you remember from Snape's potion classes? She'll be scarred, but at least we can try to get her cleaned up and the dittany might help with the worst of it."_

"_Right…you're right. Is there any?"_

"_The Healers might have some…."_

Then, she had felt his touch, gentle on her body, trying to lift her without making a bigger mess, the blood on his robes, and on his beautiful, saving hands, and she…

"'Mione?"

Ginny's voice broke into her reverie. Hermione jumped and let out a shriek. She could see Ginny's apologetic expression in the mirror. She had forgotten how everything scared Hermione now. Slowly, she approached.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, joining her friend at the mirror.

Both women gazed at their reflections for a moment, the only sound in the washroom being the distant drip from a rusty showerhead.

"It's fine."

Hermione dropped her head, her voice flat, barely above a whisper. Ginny tenderly pulled Hermione's heavy, wet curls away from her face and scarred shoulder, and using her brush, tried to make sense of the riot that was her hair. Soon enough it was untangled and laying neatly down her back. Neither had spoken during Ginny's kind gesture. When she set the brush down on the sink, Hermione turned, swallowing.

"Thank you."

Ginny felt her throat constrict as she saw tears swimming in the depths of her best friend's eyes.

"You're welcome."

Hermione's breath came brokenly.

"I'm monstrous. I wouldn't normally care, but, oh Ginny! They already look at me. And now…"

She broke down, and Ginny gathered Hermione into her arms, holding her in that washroom for as long as she needed, wishing there was something more, something real she could do. But knowing there was nothing.

She was dreaming once more, though this time she wasn't sure what it was about. She only knew she was running, and she was terrified that something, someone was going to catch up with her if she didn't keep moving.

Hermione didn't even realize the voices around her weren't in her dream, but the waking reality.

"…better if she goes, then."

"…he's back now. She won't hurt her."

"…not see her again!"

Hermione struggled to awaken, to pull away from the tight grip of the dream she was having, and make sense of the excited conversation going on around her. The last few words had been Ginny's.

Hermione moved her head on the lumpy pillow.

"But, Mamma, I don't want her to go!"

It was Lily who wailed now, and her sweet yet scared voice caused Hermione's eyes to snap open and she sat up, confused.

"What-what's going on?"

Her voice was thick with sleep, and she was unable to fully realize whatever _was_ happening seemed quite serious. Ginny reached out to stroke Hermione's hair.

"They're…they're waiting outside."

Her voice was a murmured rush, and Hermione looked at everyone around her. Justin stood to the side, a somber look on his wan features, and the children were gathered around Hermione's cot, Lily's eyes full of tears.

"Don't go, 'Mione! Don't go!"

Her tiny hand gripped Hermione's with surprising strength, and she lifted the child onto the bed with her, kissing the top of her head, her eyes searching Ginny's bright brown ones.

"W-where am I to go?" she asked in a whisper devoid of all emotion.

Justin interrupted whatever it was Ginny would have said.

"Draco Malfoy came by only an hour ago. He wants you. You have to go with him."

Hermione felt her blood run cold.

"With M-Malfoy?"

"Don't you see?" he asked with growing emphasis. "If you're with _him_, that crazy bitch can't hurt you, 'Mione! Blimey, what choice do you have?"

Lily held fast to Hermione's shirt.

"No, don't go!" she wailed.

Hermione felt her heart hammering, a strange, skittering beat within her. She blinked away hot tears of surprise and confusion, hating that her hands grew icy cold.

"I-"

A strange laugh from a nearby cot interrupted anything she would have said.

"If you don't go, I will," said an older, rusty voiced woman. She let out another peal of strange laughter. Hermione looked away from her and back at Ginny and Justin.

"I couldn't," she managed to say, nearly choking on the words. "I can't leave you here."

Ginny's eyes were equally pained and frightened, but she squeezed Hermione's fingers.

"Look, you go. How can it be- what could be worse?" she whispered intensely. "He- I can't think he'd-"

No, would Malfoy hurt Hermione now? After all he had done for her so far?

"After what he's done for you?"

If there had been more to say, Hermione couldn't speak it, for an official approached them, walking with purpose.

"She comes now!" he commanded, pushing the children out of the way, and making Lily cry again.

"No! 'Mione!"

Hermione felt torn, but she stood on shaky legs, watching the man in uniform.

"Can I say goodbye?" she pleaded, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

Of course, she was denied her one request, as he gripped her shoulder painfully.

"You come now."

Stumbling and falling, Hermione could only right herself before she was dragged through the room, looking after her family with wide, terrified eyes. Soon they were a teary blur. And then, they were gone.


	12. Chapter 12

_Once again, I'm flattered at the responses!__ Thanks so much, guys. I initially had written this next part of the story as one chapter, but realized it was a bit too much. And so, for your reading ease, I have split it in two. This is the first part – and erm – bear with me. Though you do get a glimpse into my love of architecture, because I've had Draco's house pictured in my mind for ages, and was so excited to finally write it out! I have never been to Kensington, London, by the way. So if my description is too unrealistic, PM me, and we can fix it. _

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER TWELVE<p>

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><p>Draco took a deep breath, and then fixed his face as pleasantly as he could, just as his Aunt glanced up to give him a perusal, her heavily lidded eyes flickering over his face with only half a fraction of interest. She pushed back from her desk and gave him her full attention.<p>

"Weren't you telling me just two months ago that we didn't have enough people to do menial tasks at the alienage?"

The question seemed mild, but Draco knew there were implications for her questioning; she never did anything without a purpose. And, after all, she wasn't wrong. Without blinking an eye, Draco spoke his premeditated lines in a rather diplomatic fashion.

"House elves are slowly becoming a thing of the past. Though they are fast and subservient, I'd much rather have…a house servant that is more….aesthetically pleasing, if you know what I mean?"

Bellatrix's face broke into a leer, her choked laughter following.

"Those elves _are_ ugly little cretins aren't they?"

"Indeed. Not to mention, Flint is in over his head with the numbers of Mudbloods that are coming through the east side of the city. That's not to mention the ones being shoveled into the alienage on the west side. Most of them get the Kiss, but the dementors can hardly keep up nowadays. What's one or two Mudbloods, especially when they can be put to just as good a use?"

Bellatrix ran her long fingered hand along the length of her black robes. Draco could tell she was considering his proposal, and he continued, his tone both emphatic and casual.

"It's been said that Flint takes some of them to bed. One of them hung herself in the sleeping quarters when she realized he didn't actually love her, and had only been using her as his sick little sex toy."

It was disgusting, but quite true, and it made Bellatrix laugh. He nearly grimaced with disgust. And it was this sort that he called his family - the decay of British wizard civilization. His disgust was palpable when he thought about what Mulciber had told him only weeks ago. Flint and the wolf Fenrir sharing Mudbloods – passing them back and forth like they were those bloody wizard trading cards you got in a package of bloody chocolate frogs!

His eyes boring into those of his aunt, Draco continued in the same, bored tone.

"What I was trying to say is what's it matter? Sex or housekeeping? It's all quite the same, really. They no longer have any rights, any way of making money and supporting themselves. Most of them will die anyway. We might as well put them to work as long as we have the chance."

Draco stopped, blinking for a moment, as a horrific realization came upon him.

_Merlin's__ buttock! I sound like my sodding father!_

There was a glint in Bellatrix's eyes as she glanced up at Draco.

"And so do you have ulterior motives, Nephew? Is your wife not satisfying you?"

Draco's heart twisted anxiously as he cleared his throat to hide the sudden unsteadiness he felt.

"I'd rather die than defile myself the way Flint and Mulciber do. What with a common Mudblood whore? I think not."

The words were firm and pronounced, and he took great care to add in the disdain that was customary for a Malfoy. The smile that Bellatrix gave him in return never reached her dark eyes.

"Why this particular Mudblood?" she inquired.

Draco wondered if it was simply curiosity on his aunt's part, or perhaps he was becoming paranoid. No, he wouldn't falter.

"I don't know her," he lied easily. "Astoria handpicked her. How can I possibly say no to my own wife?"

It was a lie, he knew. But with enough gentleness in tone and the smile he offered, Bellatrix gave her appeasement, albeit grudgingly.

"Ugh. I never did understand why your father held that little simpleton in such high esteem," she complained. "She is nothing but a pretty face. I would have chosen better for you, Draco. And the abhorrent way you cater to her! It is not becoming."

Draco lowered his head slightly at the admonishing tone, hoping that she wouldn't see his distaste for both Astoria and the rest of his family reflected in his face.

"She is my wife."

That, at least, was the truth.

"I want to see her happy."

_Or I'll go bloody mad!_

Bellatrix sighed and stood up.

"So Astoria handpicked her, did she?"

Draco was tired of the conversation, but he made the pretense of obedience, nodding only once.

"She wanted a Mudblood who could clean and possibly cook. One that was not pretty, for she doesn't want competition, as if that was possible."

The words were flat, and his eyes held a look of dispassion. Bellatrix let out a giggle.

"I find it amusing. Ah, let them kill each other, yes?"

Draco offered a tight smile.

"It's of no consequence to me."

But he knew his statement to be a lie, if ever there was one.

* * *

><p>Hermione stood along the dusty side of the road leading out of the alienage, her arms wrapped around her body tightly. She stared off into the distance, just where the road rounded a corner and faded against the early fall horizon, her face a mask of contemplation and confusion. They sky was a brilliant blue, even that early in the day, and white clouds dotted it like heavy cream.<p>

Behind her, the courtyard teemed with early morning life, as the other inhabitants moved about their daily chores. She could hear muffled talking and the yelling of the ministry officials, a nasty spurt of laughter here and there, and even the musical ringing of children's voices.

She thought of Ginny, the boys, and Lily. Of Justin. Of anyone who had shown her the face of kindness. Her heart wept for her family, and for all those she was leaving behind.

_Will I ever be back?__ Oh Gods, please take care of them._

Certainly, she knew, the alienage had not been _home_, but for months now it was where she had _lived._ And she was _afraid _of where she would end up next.

The Ministry official that was to watch her until Malfoy's arrival coughed and spit onto the dry ground, giving her a leering once-over before turning his head back to the road. She shivered slightly as a breeze picked up, infusing the hot, stale day with a breath of life. Hermione avoided meeting the eyes of the official, for she didn't like the look he was giving her. It was frightening, as if he were undressing her in his mind. She fought the urge to gag, and turned even further away from him, staring listlessly out at the empty road. It was then that she heard the loud crack, and knew that, for better or worse, Draco Malfoy had arrived.

"Right on time," she heard him say.

"You got yourself a nice piece, Sir."

Hermione's skin crawled at the conversation, and she refused to turn around, standing in the same position as before, feeling her eyes burn with unshed, angry tears.

_I'm a woman, not an object!_

She wanted to scream those words, come hell or high water, but she knew she couldn't. Not if…not if she wanted to be free of Pansy, of the constant, daily pain she had been enduring for months. Justin was right, she had realized. So long as she was with _Malfoy,_ she would be free of Pansy. Of course, Hermione realized things were not so simple; Malfoy was one of _them_, and she had no reason to believe he would treat her better than any of the others had.

Except that, she _did_ believe it, because he _had._

_But what will he want in return? And will I be able to give it to him?_

Still, anything was better than Pansy's constant tortures, and so she kept her head down and remained silent, biting her tongue until she tasted the coppery taste of her own blood. She was terrified of the unknown, but she was willing to gamble anyway.

"That'll be all, Rookwood. I should have her at the house within the hour, for my wife has her card club this afternoon and I want _this_ one to make her acquaintance," he explained, jabbing Hermione in the side with his wand rather rudely. She only winced.

"Indeed," replied Rookwood. "See you tomorrow, then, Sir."

The breeze ruffled Hermione's matted curls for a silent second, and she didn't dare look up, hoping to make sure that Rookwood, with his strange, lurid eyes, was gone.

When she finally did, Malfoy was staring at her curiously, and just as she met his eyes, he motioned forward. She couldn't, however, move.

_A wife? Malfoy has a wife?_

Hermione hesitated, wondering where the sudden feeling of heaviness had come from.

_Of course he has a _wife. _Even a snobbish prat can get married, can't he?_

Malfoy's look of curiosity had melted away into one of annoyance. The scowl he wore was clearly made for him; it brought attention to his full mouth-

"Do you plan on standing there all day? I've got things to do!"

His tone was as cold as the icy glare he gave her, and Hermione was stirred from her strange musings over Malfoy's mouth.

_His mouth? Merlin's beard!__ I'm thinking about his mouth? He has a wife? After everything he's done to me and my friends and family? I lose a husband and a best friend and he has a wife? Is there no justice?_

Feeling her cheeks flame slightly, both from anger and from the confused melee of thoughts she was having, she dropped her head and followed him.

Hermione itched to ask him all manner of questions, but no words passed her lips. They walked down the dusty road a ways, and turned a slight curve into a grove of trees, where Malfoy stopped and turned, rummaging in the pockets of his cloak. She saw him remove a small, gold pocket watch, which he laid on the ground.

"_Portus_," he whispered, tapping the watch with his wand, and she watched as the watch took on a bluish glow, trembled just a bit, and was still once more.

"You know," he said to her in a low voice, his eyes staring over her head, and not actually _at _her. "The Department of Transportation has really cracked down on the rules since the new Ministry took over. Mudbloods can't even do side along apparition anymore."

The tone of his voice implied that it was her fault, and Hermione finally found her voice, bristling a little.

"Well then, Malfoy, perhaps _your _Ministry ought to rethink some of their decisions."

Her brown eyes had locked with his silver ones, and for a moment he looked angry, another distracting scowl marring his shapely mouth, but then the moment was gone, as if it had never happened.

"Perhaps you ought to watch your mouth, Mudblood," he spat.

Hermione felt her heart race for a moment, and she returned his glare, though she said nothing more.

Watching as he did so, she leaned down to touch the watch, feeling the coolness of the metal against her fingertips. The tug to her lower belly and the feeling of suddenly being swept away into nothing overwhelmed Hermione, who hadn't used a portkey in years. The feeling was altogether bittersweet and strange. All Muggle-borns had been reduced to walking, or not going anywhere at all.

_Forget that I'm the brightest witch of my generation and I passed that bloody__ Apparition exam the first time! Stupid Ministry can sod off!_

The feeling of breathlessness caused Hermione's anger to melt away, and the next thing she knew, she was standing in a shadowed alley, face to face with Malfoy. Beyond them, she could hear the sound of bus engines, the honking of cars, and the soft murmur of people as they moved to and fro on the nearby sidewalks.

"Come on."

She followed him, realizing that she was completely at his mercy now. There was no Ginny or Justin, no children, no one to whom she could turn if she ended up in peril. Her heart hammered wildly within her, but Hermione could do nothing but move forward. As they emerged from the alley, and Malfoy tucked the watch back into his robe pocket, Hermione stopped and looked around, suddenly slammed with a sharp wave of recognition.

_Kensington High Street!_

Her battered heart soared for a few glorious seconds, as her eyes took in the buildings around her, the busses and cars gliding along the smooth, paved sidewalks. She could see a barista in the distance, and lines and lines of storefronts on both sides of the busy thoroughfare. The stone buildings around her sparkled in the morning sunlight, and along the horizon she found herself admiring the roofed gardens across the street. Though she had never been, her father had held several meetings at the restaurant there, and had told her stories. She remembered going for tea with her mother as a little girl, and then symphony concerts at Royal Albert Hall as she had grown up, for her parents had always been patrons of the English arts.

Her heart hammering pleasantly, Hermione forgot to move, and only when she heard Malfoy's voice, ripe with irritation, did she tear her eyes away from the sights of the city. It had been too long, she realized.

Too long since she had been amongst people, especially Muggles.

"Last time I checked, _Granger_, you had legs. Care to move them for me?"

For all the nastiness in his words, Hermione would not be fazed, and she dutifully moved forward, her eyes still trained on the sight unfolding before her. She didn't even speak until they had gone another block along high street.

"You live in London?"

She could feel him slow his pace, but he did not turn to even acknowledge her.

"Muggle London?"

This time, he deemed her a scathing look.

"It's close to work. And, to be honest, Voldemort doesn't care where we live. If he had it his way, Muggle civilization would be a thing of the past, Granger. Just you watch him try to make _that _a reality."

Hermione followed as Malfoy turned off the high street and they walked down another, less crowded street and turned one final corner. His words had not been harsh, but she understood the heaviness behind them, the oppressive edge.

_It's only going to get worse._

The thought dimmed what had been a morning of pleasant memories, and Hermione's heart broke just a little, for, in those few moments of distraction, she had forgotten her place in the new world, what she was now, and that, for her, there was no hope.

Malfoy led her down the tree-lined street, moving gracefully around parked cars and neat wooden benches. Here the shops, restaurants and baristas melted away into sprawling, high row houses made of stone and stucco. Some of them were six or seven stories of flats, and others were surrounded by high, wrought iron fences and gating, signifying wealthier, and most likely, exclusive ownership.

He stopped at the end of the little street, where a small crest of emerald grass rose up in front of them. And rising up beyond that, was one of the most beautiful houses Hermione had ever seen. She swallowed, her eyes making their way upwards towards the sky of deep blue. A part of her twisted with hatred, for Malfoy certainly didn't _deserve_ to be so blessed! But the largest part of her couldn't help but be slightly impressed.

A sweep of steps cut into the grass and led up to a wide, broad shadowed entrance, and the door was tall and wooden, surrounded by an intricately carved stone door case, and flanked by two decorative pillars. A spacious porch seemed to run around both sides of the house. The house itself rose up four, or maybe five floors, Hermione couldn't be sure. But she was awed by the perfect brick masonry and the rows upon rows of wide, sashed windows just flush with the brickwork. As she stared up at the building, the sun gleamed off of limestone as white as snow, which decorated the top of the home, and was covered with detailed carvings. The top floor had wide, oriel windows, and the roof was made of some kind of stucco, and had glorious stepped gabling and a breathtaking stone parapet. It was beyond anything else on that street; a majestic feat of architecture that was more like a mansion than a home.

She scowled, helplessness and frustration flowing through her.

_This is where he lives?_

She felt her eyes watering as she stood there, staring up at the beauty before her.

_That selfish, spoiled prat? While others around him are starved and tortured to death, and the world falls down around us, he's living HERE?_

Hermione wanted to scream. She desired to stomp her feet and throw a fit that would send all the other inhabitants of the neighborhood running for the proverbial hills. She wanted to punch him again, the way she had done in their third year, just for being Malfoy. But all those musings would never come to pass, she knew.

"This-this is your house?"

Her voice cracked from withheld emotion. Her eyes did not stray from the exquisite brick and limestone façade before her.

"What? Not good enough for you?"

The words were cold and mocking. Something in the way he said them, and the smug, self involved look on his angular features, caused Hermione to lose whatever had inhibited her before.

"No, not at all. It's rather breathtaking, actually. Which obviously means it's too good for _you."_

She clenched her jaw and glared at him, just as he turned his silvery-grey eyes on her with an expression of mild shock. His voice took on a low hiss.

"You dare speak to me that way?"

She turned her chin up defiantly towards eyes that snapped with irritation. Hermione felt herself shrink back helplessly when he leaned in to tower over her. He was taller than she was; he loomed over her.

"I'd learn how to check that feisty mouth of yours, were I you, Granger."

Hermione attempted to take a step back, to put some distance between them, because her heart lurched when he brushed up against her and it felt _strange,_ but he reached over, clamping his hand down on hers without mercy.

"You remember who you are, and who I am," he murmured. "And know your place. I can send you right back where you were before, and I don't know about you, but I imagine being here, in the house I'm not _good_ enough_ for, _is safest for you. Or am I wrong?"

Hermione swallowed vigorously, her eyes growing wide as they locked with his. Once again, she was reminded of exactly how undeniable those eyes could be, if he wished it so. Half his full mouth turned up into a slow smirk.

"I'm the Master here, Granger. And my wife is Lady of the Manor, do you understand me? When she tells you to jump, all you need ask is how high. When I give you a missive of things to do, your response will be, yes, Sir."

Hermione bit back a sharp reply, acknowledging his words with a slight nod of her head.

"Yes…sir," she ground out, hear heart thrashing wildly within her chest.

Seemingly satisfied, Malfoy pulled away, and his tone became a bored drawl.

"I realize you're pointlessly stubborn and have the misfortune of being an idiot, so let me help you out, Granger. Don't you forget why you're here, and the fact that you would be _dead_ already, were it not for me. Think about that while you're scrubbing my toilets."

He turned then, and straightened his back, moving towards the house in front of them. Hermione followed, fighting between lashing out at him once again and keeping quiet.

_I must keep quiet. I must keep quiet. I must-_

She heard the sound of a door opening and glanced up in time to see a woman emerge onto the wide, shadowed porch. She was stunning; the woman standing at the top of the steps clearly surpassed the beauty of the house itself.

_But of course, _she thought miserably, _only the best for bloody Malfoy._

She wore an expensive looking dress tied back with a swath of crimson, and she had hair as dark as night. It fell down her back in shining, thick waves and Hermione knew that every part of her was done up just so she was perfect. And she _was._ Like a doll, one of those that Hermione remembered playing with as a child. Even her eyes were perfect, wide and soulful in a face of alabaster and high, rosy cheeks.

She watched him finish the climb to the porch, and when they stood together, Malfoy seemed even paler, his hair nearly white as snow against his raven-haired wife. Even from her place closest to the street, Hermione could feel his piercing stare.

* * *

><p>Draco felt a nagging irritation in his lower belly as he stared down at Granger, who had stopped moving yet <em>again.<em> It was the fourth time in less than an hour, the first time having been when they had portkeyed into central Kensington, and then once on high street, once on his street, and now at the house.

It was starting to get on his sodding nerves.

"I'm not asking you to do much, am I, Mudblood? No heavy lifting or strenuous chores. No excessive walking, yes? So would you do me a favor, and kindly _move your ass?_"

Draco watched as Granger blinked furiously, and then hunching over, rushed up the steps obediently. Well, perhaps not exactly obediently, he decided. She had fought him every step of the way, if not with nasty comebacks than with the looks that she deemed shoot him with her expressive eyes.

_Expressive? Gods. More like, bloody annoying._

When she reached them on the massive porch, Draco heard Astoria sniff rather loudly.

"I've forgotten how emaciated these Mubloods are!"

Her comment was one of surprise, and Draco rolled his eyes with embarrassment over how stupid his wife really was. He moved his head slightly so he could see Astoria perusing Granger as if the latter was simply an object she was considering for purchase, like a handbag or a new vase for the house.

"And she's dirty, Draco. How is a _dirty_ person supposed to _clean_ our home?"

Her dark eyes traveled up and down Granger's rather dirty countenance as his wife continued speaking, using an incredibly grating simper.

"What if she has bugs?"

Draco had only a moment's time to see Granger's face alight with anger.

"I don't have bugs!" she spat, giving Astoria the same defiant glare she had given him earlier.

And here, he had thought it was patented just for him! Astoria, taken aback by the suddenly outburst, lifted her hand and smacked her across the face.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me, Mudblood."

Her eyes reflected finality, and her voice begged anyone to argue with her. Draco watched as Granger backed away, her eyes still snapping hatefully, but she remained silent.

_Thank Merlin for small miracles._

He turned on his wife.

"We've talked about this. She works for _me_, and this is _my_ house. If there is any punishment to deal out, it will be at my hand, do you understand me?"

Astoria's mahogany eyes narrowed a fraction, and her jaw clenched, but she let out an exasperated groan.

"Of course she works for _you._ Spare me the details of what kind of exertions you'll be enjoying," she hissed, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. "Just make sure in between all of that, she does the housework properly."

Draco saw her shoot Granger a look of loathing.

"And make sure she doesn't go near the kitchen, for Merlin's sake! I won't be eating anything made by a dirty, bug-ridden Mudblood."

With a toss of her hair, Astoria turned and flounced back into the house, leaving Draco alone with Granger, who was standing on the top step of his home, staring at the door, as if stricken. He felt somehow badly for her, but decided he was going to try not to from now on.

"Well, don't stand there. Get inside."

The words were harsh and final, and he watched her walk towards the door with hesitation, having said nothing since her outburst about not having bugs. She stopped, her hand hovering over the brass door handle.

"What will you have me do?"

Draco smirked to himself.

"Don't be daft, Granger. You'll make us lunch," he decided and opened the door for her. She gave him a look of uncertainty, but finally, walked into his house.


	13. Chapter 13

_My streak has broken, as I've struggled with the dialogue for this chapter for some strange reason. Anyway, here's the second half to the aforementioned long chapter, mostly Dramione. If you love it, hate it, whatever, drop me a note! I'd love to hear from all of you. Thanks to all my regular reviewers. And to my anon reviewers – thank you! You guys make me smile. _

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTEEN<p>

Draco Malfoy's house was just as magnificent inside as it was on the outside. Here, it was cool and shadowy. The ceilings were high and made of a pristine plaster, with decorative cornices where walls met ceilings. The rooms were not overly large, and the staircase that separated each of the two rooms on the main entrance floor was wide, and made of some sort of shiny, dark wood. The floors were stained the same dark color and some were covered by expensive looking Persian rugs, and other parts were left bare. A red runner covered the stairs leading upwards. Hermione could glimpse at least four floors to which those steps climbed. The place wasn't overly messy, but neither was it clean. She could see signs of disuse in the two rooms here, and wondered if the house was more for show than for habitation. It was just as well, she decided. The rich didn't use what they had, and those oppressed never had enough of which they could use. It just wasn't fair!

Malfoy haphazardly dropped his uniform jacket onto a small intricately pattered upholstered chair, and then motioned for her to come with him.

"The kitchen and dining area are upstairs."

His voice echoed in the silence of the room, and Hermione wondered where Astoria had gone to. Fascinated with the artwork along the plaster walls, she dutifully followed him up the richly carpeted stairs to the second level. It was no less grand here, though the carpet ended and a pattered tile began, leading to what looked like a massive kitchen and, to the other side, a large dining room with huge windows overlooking the main street where they had just been. He led her into the kitchen, where the bright afternoon light gleamed off the copper pots, pans, appliances, and countertops.

"Do you cook, Granger?"

He had leaned against the countertop, watching her, his expression unreadable. In this light, Hermione took notice of the lines under his eyes, and the fact that he looked incredibly tired and worn. It mildly surprised her, for she hadn't considered that a man living the way he did would ever feel strained.

She looked down at the countertops, not wanting to stare at him too long. Cook? She couldn't remember the last time she had cooked, really. The little cast iron stove in the flat she had shared with the Weasleys had spewed out dark soot every so often, making it impossible to actually make anything edible. They had survived on rations. And then, in the alienage…they were practically starved, after all. If the Ministry officers were so inclined, their watery soup was accented with stale, sometimes mold riddled bread. No cooking necessary, she mused. Hunger was a way of life, like breathing.

"I…"

Hermione thought of her own mother, and then of Molly, and she rapidly blinked against the rush of emotion that suddenly overcame her. Her fingers tightened on the countertop next to Malfoy's disused looking stove. Both women had been integral parts of her growing up, and both women were…gone.

Hermione stood stone still, unable to move against the flood of memories assaulting her, but she was aware that Malfoy had stopped staring at her, and had begun to move through the kitchen, opening the wooden cabinets and the shiny refrigerator. He moved with purpose, as if toward some goal that she didn't understand, nor even care about.

When he stepped closer to her, she flinched, even though she didn't want to. It was the mixture of his proximity and the fact that when one of _them_ got too close, it always meant pain. But Malfoy didn't touch her, instead reaching up over her head to the top cabinet and rummaging around there for a second before stepping away once more. Hermione could smell him, a mixture of cigarette smoke and something sweetly musky, like the last hint of heat on a summer's day, and the hint of fruit and praline. Whatever it was, she felt her stomach flip in a tantalizing sort of way. Disturbed, she shook her head, trying to make the odd feeling go away.

_It's just this house, and my fear.__ It's driving me mad._

"Well, since you won't bloody talk, just make what you want. I don't much care. There are vegetables in the side pantry, and meat in the refrigerator, if you need that. Make a hotpot. I'm going to go change."

She heard his footsteps fading on the tile, and then Malfoy was gone, leaving Hermione alone. Her knees buckled slightly, and she slumped against the counter, nearly crumbling to the ground. A few tears escaped her eyes, but she sniffed vehemently, telling herself this was not the time to cry. Instead, she moved robotically to the pantry and removed potatoes and carrots from the stores, bringing them back over to the counter. Her search of the fridge caused strange, ghostly fingers of hunger to grip her belly when she saw the food within. There was ham and potatoes, a pan of peas and more carrots, and huge, delicious looking pieces of beef just ready for cooking and eating. And in the bottom drawer, she saw bacon. Real bacon, with succulent fat perfect for sandwiches! Hermione closed her eyes against the beautiful sight of abundant, wholesome food, and she gripped the door of the refrigerator lest she faint. Her stomach was now crying out for satisfaction, and the sharp pains made her wince.

Slamming the door shut, she whirled and returned to the counter to face her task.

_Maybe if I sneak one bite, no one will know…?__ Just one potato or carrot?_

But she was too afraid that someone would come in, and so, fingers trembling, she took up a knife and began to sluggishly peel and slice the potatoes for the hotpot, her mouth salivating in spite of her insistence that she not think about _food. _Just as she was finishing with the potatoes and moving to peel the carrots, Malfoy returned.

"Ah, so you started."

She offered a stiff nod, training her eyes on the cutting board, afraid if she spoke, her voice would crack.

"What are you making?"

Hermione swallowed, trying to loosen the thickness in her throat, and she blinked away the bout of dizziness caused by her hunger.

"Lunch. As you requested. Sir."

Each word was like a dagger, sharp and precise. She wasn't able to hide the resentment and anger she felt, and perhaps it would be her downfall. Surprisingly, she heard him make a choked sound, like a laugh.

"You make this so hard on yourself, Granger."

Hermione turned her head to look at him, and paused. He was no longer in uniform, and she realized it was the first time she had seen him this way – he wore a blue linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat, becoming black trousers, and something about his clothing and the way random strands of his silken hair fell onto his forehead made him look softer, less harsh.

_Bloody hell, of course he's not soft! He's…he's cruel, and…and…_

She tore her eyes away from Malfoy, looking back down at her preparations, feeling her cheeks flush just a touch.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm doing everything you've asked of me."

There was another strange chuckle from Malfoy – it sounded like he was a man trying to laugh after a long time of not doing so. He leaned against the counter, watching her, though Hermione refused him the satisfaction of looking back. He spoke in a softer tone.

"Yes, it's true. But it's the way you're doing it."

She sighed, the knife clattering to the cutting board as she tried to curb her anger.

"I'll try better, Sir."

The words seethed from her lips, barely veiled nastiness under the complacent tone.

"See?" he commented with haughtiness. "Even now, your words speak complacency, but your tone says 'fuck you.' That's what I mean."

She found herself surprised, and turned quickly to gaze on him, seeing a smirk on his mouth.

"It's not like I haven't used that tone myself, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes, fingers clenching around the knife she held.

"But not when they're ordering you to murder my kind, right? I can't imagine you as anything but the perfect, mechanical official! Why, look at you, Sir! A perfect home, a beautiful wife, you're living the life, aren't you? Have no consideration for anyone but yourself, since it seems to work so well for you!"

Her tone dripped with a mixture of loathing and sarcasm - and it caused Malfoy's face to darken.

"I told you already to watch your mouth!"

Hermione lost her temper, and slammed her small hands against the counter, the imperfectly cut potato slices tumbling from the cutting board onto the stove. She turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"It's because of you and your blasted Ministry that I've been reduced to this, Malfoy!"

The 'sir' was gone now, and her true feelings on the surface.

"I've endured far worse than you ever will! I've been humiliated, battered, condemned and persecuted by people who are no better than I am! You've killed my family, my friends, and my husband! I'm so hungry most of the time, it hurts to eat! At night, I lie awake because when I close my eyes, the nightmares terrify me!"

She stepped away from him, feeling her heart hammering wildly in every inch of her, and trembling fingers yanked her dirty shirt away from her scarred skin.

"See this?" she managed to choke out, her voice breaking with humiliation.

"Every time I look into a mirror, I see _this._ I have to remember and relive it each day, what _she_ did, and what she _wanted_ to do. I wake up every morning wondering if today is the day I'm going to die! I'm _so_ sorry, Malfoy, that I can't hide my resentment!"

She hated herself for being so weak, for breaking in front of a man who didn't give a damn, but the words were out and there was no taking them back. Breathing heavily, she yanked away, terrified, when his fingers reached to trace over the hideous scars.

Malfoy's touch was strangely gentle, and when Hermione turned her tear stained eyes up towards his face, she found that he looked almost…sympathetic. She nearly leaned into that strange, calming touch. Until she saw sleeve of his linen shirt betray his true nature; he was evil. An evil, loathsome toerag – no matter what sympathies she thought she saw in those silvery gray eyes.

_No.__ I'm imagining kindness where there is none. I'm seeking solace in a man who knows only discord. I'm lost and alone and I can't cave to this. I can't try to seek refuge in the one man that can destroy me!_

She twisted away from his touch, swallowing hard, and it caused him to drop his hand. Still, his eyes traveled to the stark white reminders of her pain, forever traced into her skin.

"Parkinson?" he asked her, their eyes meeting.

She was humiliated and spent, weak from hunger and frustration. Dropping her head so that her messy curls would hide her face, she nodded.

"The…that day…in the courtyard-"

Hermione saw the corner of his mouth twitch with distaste, and his voice was soured when he spoke.

"I had hoped the dittany..."

But he said nothing more and Hermione swallowed the bitterness that she was drowning in, refusing to look at him just then. She was shamed; he had already seen more than she would allow anyone else to see.

"You must be quite proud of yourself, Malfoy," she hissed. "You hired her. She does her job well."

Pressing her lips together to keep from crying, Hermione turned back to finish the carrots and potatoes, before putting them into the pan of roast beef. She was shaking. If her words rendered anything in him, she didn't know, for she refused to look at him again, and he did not offer further conversation. Instead, he walked across the room and stood staring out of the window for a few moments.

She put the pan of roast beef into the oven, and soon the room was redolent with the scent of baking meat and potatoes, causing Hermione's stomach to growl like a rabid animal. She only hoped that he wouldn't hear it. When the hotpot was finished, she found herself serving up heaping portions onto delicate china plates, the fragrance of perfectly succulent roast making her heady. When she entered the dining room across the massive hallway, she found Malfoy seated opposite his wife at a huge, ornately carved dark wood table, both of them looking up as she entered.

Astoria Malfoy managed to look ethereal in a mint green and white gown – the second change of clothing in less than mere hours. Hermione felt more than scrutinized under the gaze of the impossibly beautiful woman, but no words were exchanged between them as she dutifully set their plates on the table, and then backed away quickly, her head held high, and her face a blank slate.

She wasn't sure why, but Hermione suddenly felt like a sore thumb. She was, after all a thin and scarred thing with straggling, lifeless hair and clothes worn gray and too loose from wear and wash, opposite a woman who sparkled with life and loveliness, bedecked with fine clothes and jewelry and the best that life had to offer.

_I haven't a proper outfit to call my own and this woman can change her clothing at a fancy's notice!_

Her eyes watered as she was made aware once again of what place she truly held in this new world. She didn't dare move lest either of them needed anything, but, as if reading her mind, Malfoy spoke.

"You're dismissed to the kitchen."

Before she could turn away, however, Astoria spoke, making Hermione wince.

"Well, I'm glad this isn't some disgusting Muggle food," she sniffed her fork poised above her steaming plate, and her nose wrinkled. Her face said what her words wouldn't – she was disgusted by just the thought of who had made her lunch.

It caused Hermione to see red, and taking a step forward she clenched her jaw.

_What an ungrateful, selfish, bigoted bint!_

Hermione forgot to check her fury.

"It's not," she assured Astoria, the venom in her voice barely restrained. "Us Muggles and Mudbloods get only watery soup and moldy bread. That's why most of us are starving. But I hope you enjoy your dinner."

The words, as they often did, slipped out before Hermione could stop them, and she expected an outburst similar to the one on the porch, however, Astoria only sighed.

"You didn't…finger this up too much, did you?"

Hermione swallowed bitter hatred and only stared at the other woman, who offered a quizzical shrug.

"I simply don't want to eat something that might carry a disease."

Her dark eyes turned up towards Hermione's.

"Who knows what kind of pestilence your kind carries nowadays. I'm only being careful. Did you wash your hands and the vegetables?"

Her fork was poking through the cooling food on the plate, but Astoria's eyes never left the other woman's. Hermione felt feeble against the flood of rage that roiled within her, afraid that the next words would be the end of her, fearful of her own ability to not fall apart. Her mouth opened just slightly, but words were impossible, for she drowned in helplessness. She couldn't help the rush of unbidden tears, and found it impossible that she could allow anyone, let alone someone whom she didn't care about, to make her feel _hurt. _And yet, she did. Without even realizing it, Hermione's tear filled eyes turned pleadingly to Malfoy.

_Why? Why do I do this? Why do I turn to him?_

Perhaps in a different time, under different circumstances, she would never have looked at him twice, but nothing was the way she had imagined it would be. And in a world of hatred, the man who hated her least was the only one she could turn to. Even if she didn't _want_ to hope in him.

Either purposely or inadvertently, Malfoy was the one who staved the tide within her when he stood.

"I told her she was dismissed," he informed his wife sternly. "She may go. And you may eat, or not eat. It's up to you. Either way, I'm sick of your conversation."

Astoria's eyes flashed as she glared up at her husband.

"I don't want my food handled by a Mudblood!"

Her objection was firm and stubborn. But it did nothing to quell the coldness in his reply.

"It's my food, not yours. It's also my house, and not yours. So therefore, you abide by my rules."

Hermione didn't wait to be dismissed again, instead fleeing as quickly as she could for the safety of the empty kitchen. Except when she stopped in the middle of the room, her heart would not cease it's crescendo of wild hammering, and her infirmity in the face of her current situation would not fade away. There was no safety, and she had no one in this house to who she could turn.

The tears ran down her face as she cried in silence, unable to move, not sure where to go, and what to do next. She buried her weary face in her hands, sobbing. She wanted to murder Astoria Malfoy with her bare hands, to watch her beautiful face turn ugly in fear and confusion. She wanted the couple in the dining room to know what it felt like to lose something, someone they loved. She yearned for them to feel the pain and agony that she had been feeling all these years! Hermione cried for everything she had lost, and for what lay ahead of her. She cried from desperation and fear, hunger and loss. And try and she might, she wasn't able to stop the flow of hot, bitter tears. So focused on her pain, she did not hear him until he spoke.

"Make yourself a plate."

Startled, Hermione whirled around to see Malfoy watching her, his face reflecting nothing, as it always did. She thought she had heard wrong, and her words were uneven when she managed a reply.

"W-what?"

"Make yourself a plate. I heard what you said in the dining room. I know Parkinson starves all of you, it's just a control tactic. But you're not there. You're here. It's my food, and I've got plenty. Eat the leftovers."

Hermione struggled with disbelief. She was so hungry, her stomach nearly screamed at the mention of food. Real, actual food, and not the scraps she had been eating for months and months. Nothing, and no one, had ever sounded as heavenly as his offer. And even though she hated to be reduced to lower than the low at the hand of the Ministry, she wasn't thick enough to turn down his offer.

Rushing towards the cabinet, she pulled down a plate and piled it with leftover dinner, reaching for a fork with trembling fingers, and then shoving bite after gluttonous bite into her mouth, not waiting to swallow the first before she followed with the second, and then the third. She ate, feeding the ravenous beast within her, filling herself as he stood there watching her. It was degrading, Hermione knew, but the food was divine, as if a gift from the Gods themselves. She delighted in the buttery taste of the potatoes as the luscious bites practically melted in her mouth. She rejoiced in the taste of well seasoned beef, both tender and flavorful, and a perfect complement to the velvety potatoes and carrots. She nearly wept. At first she was gloriously overcome with the feeling of being full again, of not feeling the nagging pain of hunger she had gotten used to. But as she finished the plate, she grew aware that that feeling was no longer pleasant. In fact, Hermione realized with a start, that she was going to be ill.

With a whimper, she pushed Malfoy out of the way, clamping her hand over her mouth to keep the looming mess at bay.

_Merlin's beard, I'm going to be __sick all over his kitchen floor! I'm going to vomit up the only meal I've had in months, and he's going to watch me as I humiliate myself in such a way!_

But it couldn't be helped, she knew.

Stumbling up the richly carpeted stairs, Hermione pushed into the first door she saw at the top of the landing, hoping and praying it was the loo – and at least in that, she got lucky. It was a massive room with a marble floor and white, sparkling walls, a porcelain bathtub on gilded legs standing by a tall window, and a mirror with vanity lights on the opposite wall. But what she saw, and what she needed the most was the toilet, by which she fell to her knees, lowering her head just before her lunch betrayed her. The effort exhausted Hermione, and she slumped against the porcelain bowl, clutching the sides, her whole body trembling as she was sick. She tried in vain to gather her unruly curls away from her clammy yet overheated face, but the strands kept slipping into the bowl where she was vomiting.

She moaned in frustration, but couldn't move, afraid that the sickness would never stop. Then, she felt gentle yet firm hands gather her hair and hold it back for her.

And she knew he was there.

* * *

><p>Granger was pathetic, Draco decided. She had been reduced to rags and starvation, a wraith in an oversized and threadbare blouse and skirt, so hungry she had eaten too much and made herself sick. Yet, at the same time, he felt a profound desire to ease her pain. Draco didn't know why he was standing in that bathroom, holding back the frizzy, matted curls that refused to be tamed. But, he was.<p>

He could feel the heat coming off of her in waves, and her hair felt strangely soft within his grip as he stood there, waiting for her to be finished. Draco found himself trying to block out the sound of her retching, which was interspersed with struggling sobs. Finally, after an innumerable time, the sounds of her heaving ceased, and there were only her gasps and the whimpered sobs. Strangely, watching Granger crumbled next to his toilet, barely able to hold herself up, beaten down by both life and those who hated her, made him see the consequences of not only his actions, but the actions of those who worked for him.

Draco didn't want to think of her as anything but a Mudblood, but the truth was, he had already come to terms with the fact that in spite of not wanting to, he cared what happened to her. And this was no different. As she sat up, her let go of the pile of curls he had been holding, watching it fall haphazardly around stooped, thin shoulders. Though her sickness had passed, still she trembled slightly. As she took large breaths, Granger wiped her sweaty face, and she reached for the handle to flush evidence of her sickness away.

Without moving, he found himself speaking.

"You'll eat each day. I won't have you being sick all over my house."

He watched as she turned up her face towards him, her brown eyes rimmed with tears and her expression one of shame.

"I-I didn't mean to."

Draco couldn't handle the look on her pale face any longer, and whirling away from her, he stalked to the doorway.

"Clean yourself up."

But he didn't leave, waiting just outside of the washroom, staring listlessly out of the window. Draco didn't know where the compassion was coming from, and frankly it was starting to anger him. Never had he felt a pull to anyone, especially someone like Granger, without understanding his own motivations. Was it guilt? Was it the memory of Scorpius? Was it a conscience he didn't know he had possessed? Whatever it was, he realized to curb the strange feelings he was having, he would have to find the source and snuff it out. Soon enough, anyway – before anyone suspected his softened heart.

Granger emerged a moment later, her wild mane of hair pushed to the side in a valiant attempt at neatness, and her face regaining some of the color it had lost during her bout of vomiting. But even in that face of despair and the countenance of misery, Granger's eyes flickered like firelight – two eternal candles. Looking into those eyes, he once more felt the pull of something he couldn't explain, a light along his darkened horizon, closer now that she was with him, looking back at him-

"You'll need a few changes of clothing," he muttered gruffly, willing himself to stop thinking. "I can get those from my Aunt. Meanwhile, I'll take you back."

He saw her eyes widen and her breathing stop for a moment.

"B-back?" she whispered in shock.

"You didn't think you'd actually stay here, did you Granger?"

He _had_ considered it. Pansy Parkinson didn't know where Granger would be getting to during the day, but having her stay with him would nearly guarantee the two would never have another run in. But there was no way on God's green earth he'd be able to explain that away – no matter how he fan dangled his aunt and wife. There was a flush to her cheeks then indicating that she had thought he would keep her there, and she dropped her head for a moment.

"N-no, of course not."

There was a pause and he sighed.

"Come on, then."

He could hear her muffled footsteps as she followed him all the way down to the main floor once again, and she never again offered any conversation, or indicated that she even knew where she was. She simply followed him back to the alley where they had used the Portkey. He pulled it out again, placing it down between them, and then looked back up into her eyes. They still shone with some undying light, even in the shadowy alleyway that late in the afternoon. Her mouth opened, as if she would speak, but she remained silent, hesitant.

"Wait for me each morning right along the drive where we met this morning."

The words were a firm order, but uttered gently. She only nodded and the last thing Draco saw before they were whirled into oblivion was her steady gaze. In spite of the animosity between them, and what had already transpired, he felt calm.

* * *

><p><em>I almost said 'thank you', didn't I? Almost – after everything he's done to me, I wanted to thank him?<em>

Hermione watched as Malfoy disapparated with a loud crack, just as he had that morning, leaving her alone on the stretch of gravel road leading to the alienage in the distance. She hadn't said a word, in spite of the gratitude on the tip of her tongue.

This far up the road, she was too far for any of them to see her, and her initial desire was to turn towards the slowly sinking golden sun and run as fast as she could away from her captors. But she knew she couldn't – they would catch her eventually. She had not expected to be returned to the alienage, but now that she had been, she knew she would return to Ginny and the children, and to Justin. At least she knew at the end of a terrifying and lonely day, she could return here, where she knew people, and where someone loved her.

Her mouth was dry and she still tasted the disgusting acidity of her own sickness, but at least the pain of hunger was gone. She felt ugly in what she wore, but at least soon she would have something new to wear. She hated the new Malfoy Manor, but at least there, she was safe.

Hermione's eyes burning, she set off down the road, moving faster as she neared the alienage, and nearly sprinting across the courtyard.

And at least, at the end of the day, she had her family.

Hermione didn't know, however, what awaited her.


	14. Chapter 14

_I know, I made it a cliffie, and then my proofreader said that the resolution wasn't even that huge. I get__ it, but I don't want to mess with the children too much in this story. This one is a bit longer, but maybe the end will be worth it? Let me know. _

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FOURTEEN<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione sensed something wasn't right the moment she crossed the dusty threshold of the sleeping quarters within the alienage. Sometimes, she just got one of those feelings. This one was cloying, perching in the pit of her belly like a nasty, unwelcome guest. Two hard swallows wouldn't get rid of it. Nothing did. Nothing – until she saw Ginny's cot.<p>

Then, it was like the feeling was replaced by one of incredible panic; it raced outward from the heart of her, freezing everything in place so that Hermione had to stop moving.

Ginny sat, quietly sobbing into Justin's shoulder, with Lily (thank Merlin, Lily….nothing had happened to Lily) to her one side.

Hermione rushed forward, her tired heart picking up a faster paced rhythm, not quite aware in the moment that, although Lily stood by her weeping mother's side, the boys were not there.

_Oh, no._

Her wildly hammering heart turned to lead within her, and Hermione stumbled just as Lily looked up, her face pale and her green eyes wide.

"'Mione! You're back! You're back!"

The little girl startled the two adults, and brought unwelcome attention from their bunkmates, but Hermione ignored those around her and scooped Lily into her arms. She wrapped her in a torrid embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of sweetness that clung to Lily's hair. The bad news was to come, that the boys were not there, and she knew, just _knew_,that wherever they had gone –

Lily's voice was muffled by Hermione's hair.

"Mamma said you might never be back, but I hoped, I really hoped, 'Mione! I never wanted you to go, I didn't! I thought the bad men would bring you back and they did!"

Tiny hands clutched at Hermione's shoulders, Lily's words, and her sweet, lilting voice, breaking and building up Hermione's heart all at the same time.

"They took Albie and James," Lily said without preamble, as a child who hasn't lost her innocence would.

The news, although Hermione had prepared for the worst, still plowed her over like the Hogwarts Express. For a few seconds she couldn't breathe, and then she rushed over to Ginny, who still sobbed silently into Justin's shoulder. She was frozen for a second and then sank down and reached up, brushing long strands of Ginny's heavy hair away from her tear-ridden face, barely able to speak.

"Ginny, I'm here."

The whisper caused Ginny to glance up and she reached down, fumbled for Hermione's fingers. Hers were icy.

"'Mione, thank Merlin you're here again. That they let you come back, I…"

But she offered nothing of the boys, and her tears did not subside. Hermione swallowed past her panic, trying to find words to speak.

"The boys…Ginny…?"

She braced herself for the worst possible scenario. Pansy and the wand – and the boys, dead. It was Justin who spoke, his voice tense.

"She said there was no more room. She came and took the older ones away, leaving just Lily. She said they were going back to Azkaban. I don't know why, I just…we couldn't argue with her. She was livid."

The red haired woman looked down, and even though there was relief that the boys weren't dead, Hermione's heart broke at Ginny's helpless tears. A woman who was of pureblood, just like _they_ were, and had to suffer such pain! Surely, there was something they could do! Surely, if she explained the situation…

"I didn't even get to say goodbye!" she wailed.

Hermione rested her head against Ginny's arm, her fingers lacing through those of her friend, offering what comfort she could. But knowing that it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

No one noticed the flash of white-blond hair at the entrance to the sleeping quarters- a face pale against the darkness beyond, for the sun had set already. He stood, brooding and silent, watching the pain unfold before him, feeling guilty and helpless. He could only do so much. He couldn't save her from all her pain. Even if he tried, it would never be enough.

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that morning…<em>

Pansy Parkinson glanced up when the door of her office within the alienage opened. Bellatrix Lestrange slipped in, and the door fell shut once more with a heavy thump.

Pansy stood to greet her boss, smiling appropriately, though her feelings could never be misconstrued as pleasant in the least. In fact, she was rather miserable, and grumpy to boot. The feeling of gloom had fallen upon her the moment she had heard from Rookwood that Draco Malfoy had taken a Mudblood to his home in Kensington. A quick inspection of the grounds had confirmed her suspicions; Hermione Granger was nowhere to be found.

_That pretentious cad__! Going over my head to keep me from doing my job!_

It angered Pansy in a way that caused her to tremble to her very core. The wrath nearly distracted her from Bellatrix's greeting.

"I received your post."

Her voice was raspy, and she refused to sit, so that Pansy had to stare up at her. It was annoying.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. I have concerns."

Pansy stood up as well, not wanting to be put in a position where she didn't feel equal to the witch in front of her, even though it was abundantly clear that the two would never truly be _equals._

"Concerns? About what?"

Bellatrix's voice was a touch mocking, and a touch bored. Pansy felt anger swirling within her, that same anger that had taken residence in her heart for all time since starting her new job outside of the Ministry.

"About the way Draco Malfoy manages this alienage, and his insubordination."

Her reply was terse and flecked with clear disdain.

"I shouldn't have to be seeing you about this."

"Indeed. You should see him. After all, this seems a matter best settled between the two of you, no?"

As she spoke, Bellatrix had begun to twist her wand in her hand casually, and her black eyes flickered over Pansy's distraught face. The younger woman gnawed on her bottom lip.

"Perhaps then, you could tell me, why it is that he is having a Mudblood accompany him each day to his home in Kensington?"

She hated her own voice, shrill and too childish for her tastes. She hated how Draco Malfoy made her feel; he brought out insecurities and frustrations that Pansy hardly ever felt any other time. She was strong. She knew she was ruthless. Determined and focused. Except, when it came to a certain blond Managerial Officer of the Hit Wizard Squad. Ugh. She hated him!

Bellatrix let out a nasty laugh.

"Ah, so this is about petty jealousy, is it?"

Her eyes mocked Pansy with just a look, and she shook her head. Pansy fought to keep the flush from her cheeks as she bristled indignantly.

"It is not! It is about-"

Bellatrix waved her off.

"Spare me the details, I won't deal with your silly problems, girl. What you and my nephew have between yourselves is not something I'm about to invest my time in, understood? The Mudblood was hand picked by Draco's wife, in case you've forgotten she exists, and she is the house servant."

Pansy was now red in the face as she fought against lashing out at Bellatrix and dealing with yet another person who spent needless time reminding her that Draco was _married._

_Blast it! Damn him for marrying her!_

She cleared her throat, running a single finger along a fissure in her desk, organizing her thoughts.

"So now, we can hand pick Mudbloods and take them out of the alienage to wherever we please? Does that not defeat the purposes of trying to _alienate_ them?"

Bellatrix laughed.

"Don't ask me to explain Astoria Malfoy and her silly little whims. Draco seems rather taken with her," she reminded the younger woman, loving any moment that she could wallow in someone else's clear agony. It was nearly as fun as the cruciatus curse.

Pansy turned a rather unattractive shade of pink as Bellatrix continued in a lackadaisical tone.

"I told him already that being a Malfoy means more than just salivating after whatever pretty pureblood comes along, but did he listen to me?"

She offered a little titter.

"Anyway, what happens to those against our Lord's cause does not matter to me."

Pansy stared, swallowing hard, the cogs in her nefarious mind turning all of a sudden.

"_Anyone_ against the cause?" she clarified sharply. "What about the half-bloods? The sympathizers?"

Bellatrix shrugged noncommittally.

"They mean nothing to me."

Pansy's eyes brightened with fever.

"And they _are_ nothing," she murmured.

Draco had tried to make it so she couldn't render her punishments as she pleased. Well, she decided, two could play at his game.

* * *

><p><em>One month<em>_ later…_

Draco had decided years ago, at Hogwarts, that Marcus Flint was a wanker. Truth be told, he had never realized what a disgustingly _perverted_ wanker he was, until working with him in the Ministry.

As he sat in the Ministry building at the alienage trying to eat his lunch, Draco attempted not to make faces as Flint told him about yet another Mudblood he had bedded shortly after having picked her up from Greyback's hotel room. He wondered with little interest exactly _where_ Greyback was staying, for he couldn't quite remember an address or any real talk of the man's home. Not that he cared, really. If Flint was a wanker, then Greyback was an abhorrent, sadistic waste of flesh.

The blond man gazed down at his lunch – jacket potatoes and a tender roast that Granger had made just the previous day. Quite good, admittedly, and that was part of his problem. Granger was quite good at many things, he had learned. And perhaps it was the way she had with a feather duster, or the fact that her Yorkshire pudding put all others under the table, but either way, Draco was having trouble not thinking about her when she wasn't around. This wasn't good – not good at all. But then again, thinking about Granger was preferable to the alternative, which just happened to be a very horny and foul mouthed Marcus Flint.

"Did you fuck her yet, Malfoy?"

His face was even uglier when he leered, so much so Draco nearly winced at the sight. He swallowed the potato in his mouth lest he choke on it.

"What?"

"That hot little thing that supposedly cleans your house, eh? What else is she cleaning, is what I want to know."

The vulgar comment was accented with Flint's horse-like laughter, as he sat back with a satisfied smirk. This time, Draco _did_ wince.

"I'm not like you and your friends, Flint. I've already told you, I don't go around adulterating myself with foul Mudbloods! My wife handpicked her for the job, and I'd die before I touched her!"

Flint raised a bushy eyebrow and heehawed once more.

"Who ever gave a sod over a good fuck once in a while, Malfoy? I suppose marriage makes you a prude."

"And apparently time does nothing for _some_ people's sensibilities."

He got up, his appetite gone, even in the face of Granger's culinary talents. He wanted away from Flint and from the bloody alienage more than he had wanted anything in a long while. Even looking at him made Draco's skin crawl. Besides, without Granger, the alienage was unbearable. Flint was till chuckling.

"Don't get all bent over it, Malfoy. I'm only having a chat, aren't I? Its sex, and you have to admit that those Mudbloods are right quick to get into bed with any cock."

Draco swallowed, and then stood up straight, his back stiff.

"You're a nasty bleeder, that's what you are. And I don't much care what you do with that Mudblood cow, or any female, really. Have a jolly go at her, but spare me the repugnant details!"

He whirled, clutching his belongings, and stalking out of the building, making sure he looked formidable. He certainly didn't want anyone to know how strange Marcus had made him feel at the mention of Hermione Granger and having her…in _that_ way.

_Bloody hell._

He decided right then and there, that any rather heated thoughts he _might_ have been entertaining were Flint's fault. After all, Draco himself hadn't thought about Granger in _that_ way, at least not until recently. He didn't have sex on the brain. He didn't have sex, period, which was sadly part of the problem.

_And she _is_ a Mudblood cow._

He found himself standing alone, on the outskirts of the alienage, looking towards the road leading away from it.

_Even if she is a cow, she's-_

Draco's lips twisted into a frustrated sneer, and he was glad he was alone. Had he just considered Granger as his…? No. No possible bloody way.

_Well, she's not Flint's, anyway._

Draco found that the idea of Flint getting anywhere near Granger made him see crimson. He decided it was because not even someone like Granger deserved to be desecrated by an oaf like Marcus and his dodgy friends. He had just gotten her away from Parkinson's abuse, and now he had to deal with a horny bastard like Flint.

He apparated into Kensington, and then swiftly made his way home, confident that even if Flint coveted Granger in some sick way, it wasn't like he could just saunter into his home and take her. Granger was safe.

_She's safe from Flint. But what about…?_

The filthy talk at lunch had been one thing, but Draco was starting to become too aware of the strange feelings that Granger had begun to evoke within him. And not just feelings of sympathy or compassion, which were hard to deal with. No, these were dangerous feelings, which tiptoed along territory that he dared not cross. These were wanton feelings that left him with a delicious ache.

_She's a Mudblood._

It was true. But in this new world, men like Flint, Mulciber, and Greyback had shunned just that fact, and had fallen into bed to shag whatever woman walked by – if she was good looking enough, what did it matter? What was a Mudblood good for if it wasn't for sex? And Granger was…

_I can't possibly fancy her in that way. I never have before! Bloody hell, I'm not that desperate, am I?_

The clothes he had gotten her several weeks before fit her well. Like a second skin, actually. This made it difficult for Draco to not notice her. She was thin. But, not that thin, and in fact, with her eating regular meals once more, a blind man would have noticed the fact that she was filling out in what he liked to call all the right places. And those places were gloriously displayed for his viewing pleasure anytime he happened to pass her through the house. She never spoke, but she was _there._ And Draco was uncomfortably aware of that fact, and knew that when she wasn't there, he was _thinking_ about her.

_She's filth,_ he told himself sternly as his house came into view.

Yes, maybe she _was. _But she was attractive. Not in the same was as Astoria, or any of the women he had fancied over the years. Granger was subtly so. Draco blamed the serious drought in his love life. He blamed Astoria for being such an unfeeling bint. It wasn't like he wanted to find Granger attractive, mind you. He didn't. She wasn't, not really.

Not even after she started to better take care of herself, and the food brought color back to her pallid cheeks and the shine back to her impossibly wild hair. He would watch her tend the garden, and admire the tiny little curls that would escape from the bobby pins she used to tame the rest of her brown mane. He would be mesmerized in the way the sun would beat down on her, kissing that hair with honeyed highlights. And when she would return to the house after her work was finished, and wipe the sheen of sweat from her face, Draco's body would betray him, reacting inappropriately, his mind's eye and senses wondering what it would feel like to touch her, to run his mouth along her smooth neck and taste her, to breathe in the scent of her sun warmed hair and-

_Bloody Merlin on a Hippogriff! She puts on new clothes and starts to eat regular food and I'm getting all horny for her? _

He cleared his throat, feeling a sweat break out along his nose. No, of course he wasn't. Something stirred in his lower regions, and that aforementioned delicious ache started a whisper of desire within him.

_Evidence to the contrary, Draco._

Well, it couldn't be helped, he decided. He was clearly going mad, and it wasn't like he actually had to act on those impossible feelings anyway. He wasn't like Flint. Or any of those others, because he had control.

Control. He just needed to remember that, was all.

* * *

><p>Hermione knew that it was just a game of control for Astoria. She knelt on the kitchen floor, on hands and knees, but refused to give into the dark-haired beauty standing before her as she glared down, her face a mask of indifference.<p>

"When I say you take out the trash that means _all_ the trash, not just the bits you want. Look in there again!"

Hermione moved her head slightly and gazed into the foul-smelling bin, noting the fruit peels and some rancid chicken in the bottom. She hadn't meant to leave those behind, but in her hurry to do the morning's chores, she had simply forgotten.

Astoria prodded Hermione with her dainty, boot-clad foot.

"Well, you left them there, didn't you? So do as I tell you!"

Hermione stiffened herself, and tried not to gag at the offensive smell coming from the bin.

"I won't eat it!"

Defiance rang in her tone as she dodged a kick to her side and Astoria offered a cruel laugh.

"Oh, yes you will! You need to learn to submit, you little whore. You're nothing but a smear on my reputation, do you know that? If some of the other ladies I socialize with knew my husband took a common Mudblood as a house keeper, they'd laugh me out of Kensington. If you can't do your job right, I'll make sure you learn."

With that, she rapped Hermione sharply with the wand she had removed from a jade and cream robe pocket. The woman on her knees winced at the sharp pain, but she remained staunchly stiff, refusing to do as was asked of her, simply because she would not be broken in that shameful way. No human being, not even a Mudblood, should have been reduced to eating from a rubbish bin. Her heart beat angrily within her chest, but Hermione offered no words, just her stubborn defiance.

Within the last month she had been ordered around the house, doing every menial task either of the Malfoys could think of, and at the alienage she had to listen as Ginny cried herself to sleep each night, clutching Lily tightly as if not to lose her, too. She had to endure the whispers and jeers of the other women near her cot, as they called her a whore, and asked her what she was doing to keep Malfoy so complacent. During the times she was unfortunately relegated to the alienage for the day, she had to endure the nasty gropes and catcalls from the other Ministry Officials, who, believed that once Malfoy was finished, they would get their chance to defile her. The one with the lurid eyes, Rookwood, was the worst, but the others were not much better.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of those men and the things they wanted to do to her, but wondered if it was any worse than what she had already been through at the sadistic hands of Pansy Parkinson. Either way, she was not keen on finding out.

"Now," ordered Astoria, gripping Hermione's neck tightly, to lower it over the bin.

The girl on her knees gagged. Suddenly, there were footsteps from the doorway.

"I'm not actually seeing you shoving her around, am I, Astoria?"

Hermione nearly wept with joy at the silky drawl of Malfoy's voice echoing in the huge kitchen. Instantly, the near painful grip on her neck loosened, and Hermione scrambled backwards to see Malfoy glaring at his wife.

"Didn't you say you had a shopping day planned? Why aren't you gone yet? It is well past noon. My family's party is in two weeks time. Merlin knows you'll need that time to find something that you fancy."

The sneer that formed on Astoria's face sullied it.

"Oh, anxious to be alone, are we? Please don't let me keep you from your noontime delights!"

Her eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks flushed with brilliant color.

"I won't have her here if she doesn't know her job, Draco!"

He reached out to grip Astoria's hand tightly.

"I decide if she is doing her job well. It is not for you to say, and I won't have you pushing her around, are we clear?"

The dark haired woman looked like she would explode, and finally she took a huge breath.

"And I'm not going to your sodding party!"

Astoria's retort was blustery and childish, but soon enough she hurried out of the kitchen, her footsteps dying a moment later.

"Get up."

This time his voice was quieter, and Hermione moved to get up, struggling for a moment and then looking him in the eye. She didn't thank him; she didn't say anything at all, and he spoke once more.

"I didn't know she would be here this afternoon. Next time, I'll be here to ward off anything between the two of you."

Hermione found it strange that this time, there was no blame put on her, no harsh reminders to mind her mouth, nothing at all.

"I'm sure you would have been here," Hermione replied tersely. "Hard day at the alienage? What happened? Lines for the Dementors get too long, Malfoy? Did you have to do the killing yourself?"

She gazed into gray eyes that suddenly registered shock at her blatant jab, and the harsh words. He lifted his hand to smack her, and something made him decide not to, and instead he moved roughly past her to the leftovers still on the counter where Hermione had put them.

"You ought to watch your mouth, you know that?"

There, at least now he was being Malfoy.

"Should I? No one else does, after all."

He whirled on her, color appearing on his pale cheeks.

"It's not your place! You seem to forget that you're nothing, Granger! Sooner or later, you're going to have to learn your place, and submit."

Hermione felt herself bristling and wished for the thousandth time that she knew how to curb the angry words that always accompanied her out of control emotion.

"Funny how I'm not sure how much more I can submit, Malfoy! Have you forgotten that my husband and friends are dead? Do you not see the scars and bruises I'm wearing? What about everything I've been put through in the last six years? I've been alienated from the rest of the world, made to eat nearly nothing, beaten, ridiculed, smacked around, and all around me people just like me are dying! How much more do you think I can submit?"

Her eyes were wide with anger and indignation. And something in him snapped.

* * *

><p>Draco wasn't sure what it was; she was standing several feet from him, fists clenched and face white with barely manageable anger. He could see she was fighting a futile battle against her raging emotions, and something in her voice, in the accusations and hatred that dripped from each syllable caused the anger that had simmered in his belly all morning to ignite and engulf is whole being.<p>

"How much more?"

He advanced on her, shoving her against the wall nearest the doorway.

"I'll show you how much more," he hissed, his face nearing hers so that within moments he could smell the sweet and musky scent of her skin, and it made his senses spin wildly.

Granger struggled against him, the anger now replaced with alarm.

"I don't have to obey you, Malfoy!"

This said between clenched teeth as once more she tried to get away from him, even though he held her in place firmly with one hand as the other grabbed her jaw, pulling it towards him. He felt her chest heaving, and her heart galloping like that of a small animal against his own chest.

"Don't you forget, Granger, it's this or death, isn't it?"

She recoiled, an expression of fear on her face, just as he clamped his hand on the back of her neck, dragged her face forward, and then took her mouth in a searing kiss, doing what he had been thinking about doing for weeks now. He forgot that it made him just like Flint, like Greyback. It made him as loathsome as all those other officers who used Mudbloods for their own sick pleasure, but in that moment, Draco couldn't think about anything but having her. Yes, he was confused at his emotions, and at the desire that he didn't want to be feeling, but he wasn't able to stop.

As he backed her out of the kitchen into the hallway, his fingers found their way into the thickness of that honeyed hair, feeling it's softness once again, tugging at the bobby pins with growing insistence as his mouth plowed hers roughly. The kiss was brutal- bruising and crushing her lips with growing demand, and with another tug of his fingers, her hair spilled gloriously out of it's confines to shower her shoulders. He took in a ragged breath, feeling himself tremble against her mouth before crushing his lips to hers once again, breathing in the scent of early fall breezes that still clung to her silky tresses. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. Draco didn't think Granger was breathing at all, and he didn't believe this was happening. It was a bad dream, he decided. A horrific nightmare born of his nonexistent love life and basic carnal cravings. He couldn't really be kissing her, could he?

He ran into a small table in the hallway, and the crystal vase perching on it wobbled and crashed to the hardwood floor, shattering loudly and causing Draco to pull away. Granger tried to shove at him, a strange whimper lingering on her flushed lips.

"You loathsome, nasty git!" she hissed, struggling once more against him.

Draco heard her words, but he was sluggish in the interpretation, wanting only more, another second, just one more sip from her tantalizing mouth. His eyes searched her face, flushed with fever and his kisses.

"See how much more you could submit?" he whispered feverishly, his fingers still lodged in her hair. "See what I could make you do?"

He ended his ragged words by crushing her mouth under his once more. This time, he wanted more, this time, his tongue delved out to trace the silken line of her upper lip, before doing the same with her lower. She gasped, and he smothered the strangled sound with another, deepening caress, aware of nothing but the sensation of her soft and pliant mouth against his, a mouth that shouldn't have been this good, this desirable.

Hermione had stopped struggling, unable to do so when his hands were so entrenched in her hair and his mouth was so commanding against hers. When his tongue plunged into her mouth with abandon, her knees went weak, and even though she knew the kisses were meant to punish and to degrade her, there was no denying the hot, melting feeling that assaulted her as his tongue invaded her mouth. He kissed her completely, without reservation, teasing, tantalizing her with each second that passed, his tongue luring, drawing and capturing her completely, so that within seconds her own tongue was in his mouth and the caress that she didn't want was the very thing she wished would never end.

But it did, when he pulled away with the same intensity with which he had taken her, and it left Hermione confused, frightened and…bereft. The look in his eyes was a mixture of passion and panic and he backed away, his boots crunching under the broken crystal vase, loud in the silent room. They stared at each other, and then he motioned towards the floor.

"Clean up this fucking mess," he muttered, his trembling hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he was shocked by what he had just done.

"Now."

Turning, he stalked away, and Hermione watched him, ever one of her senses still with the man who had just left her.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks, always for all your support guys.__ If you didn't love it, I wouldn't really be inclined to write it. To all of those I can't reply to personally – hugs! I appreciate every kind word. Here's the next installment, which I'm nervous about. This is sort of my hinge point in the story, Lily's in trouble, and Hermione does something desperate. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTEEN<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione trembled. He was gone, and she was left in the empty, shadowy hallway on her hands and knees, trying to pick up shards and pieces of crystal glass with hands that would not stop shaking. Twice, she had to stop, to gather her wits, to try to keep from completely falling apart.<p>

_Whore._

The voices of the others in the alienage whispered in the deep recesses of her tormented mind, making her feel even worse. They had all suspected, gossiped wondered, and now-

She felt violated, and wondered if any of the others at the alienage would know, sense what had happened between herself and Draco Malfoy. It wasn't like they needed any fodder to whisper about her, but now it wasn't…

She shuddered, feeling tears prickling the edges of her eyes, as she fought against the slightly achy feeling in her lower half.

_He kissed me!_

The thought was terrifying, and yet in some dark way, alluring. She knew now, what it would take, what he would demand of her when the time came. She had known some of the others, the ones that watched her, leered at her, licking their lips and biding their time, used the other Muggle-born girls for their lewd sex games. She hadn't thought Malfoy-

_And why did I hold him in higher esteem? Why did I even want to trust him, even for a fraction of a second? He's just like they are! He's a horrible, hateful little prat, and I __should never have-_

Even though, the alternative was Pansy Parkinson.

Tears slipped down Hermione's flushed, oversensitive face, and she held back the sobs, in case he was there, waiting for her around one of the nearby corners where she wouldn't see him, those gray eyes boring into her, making her feel confused and overwhelmed. Hermione stood, unable to finish the task assigned to her, and she wrapped her shaking arms around her body protectively, her hot tears increasing.

She still felt his hands, impossibly delicate and beautiful, as they had tugged with an intense deliciousness at the hair that now lay messily around her shoulders. And his mouth had been so…so…completely consuming, so that she had succumbed with only a whimper.

_I can't possibly think that this was…_

His kiss…meant to punish, to subdue – but-

It had been so organically real to Hermione, so emotional, so…

_Rape, _the only sensible part of her mind whispered. _It's nearly rape, and you're trying to pass this off as something else? Are you mental, Hermione?_

She let out a whimper, and then pressed her forehead against the window which overlooked the gardens below. What usually had been a beautiful sight for Hermione seemed somewhat dulled and lackluster now. She couldn't quite get the image of Draco's desire filled eyes out of her mind. And now, she was flooded with recollections of those same eyes watching her…

Watching her while she cooked breakfast, and while she silently defied Astoria. Watching her as she tended to the garden from his lofty perch on the fourth floor bedroom he shared with his wife. And the looks she caught him giving her when he thought she wasn't looking.

_He wants me._

Such a narcissistic thought would never have crossed Hermione's mind in the past, but this was different, this was a world where everything was turned on its head, all wrong was right, and all right was…well, right didn't exist anymore.

But she knew what she felt when those eyes raked over her body; she knew what she saw in those pewter eyes when she allowed herself to look into them. She knew what desire looked like, after all, there had been Ron…

_I had almost no time with Ron!_

Her heart twisted with loss and heartbreak, thinking back on the moments she had shared with her late husband, moments of sighs in the darkness, and fumbled, uncertain touches. Those times had been few, and Hermione was aware that her experience with men was limited, so that if Malfoy evoked any feelings within her she wouldn't be able to understand-

_He wants me._

Her mind whispered to her once more, that same, twisted and yet…strangely empowering thought. Hermione paused, allowing her mind to fully grasp the implications of what she knew, even if Malfoy would never admit it.

_Me. The way he watches me…_

She wondered if that was why he had saved her life that summer day months ago. Perhaps, it had been his plan all along. To possess her in every way possible, even though it meant coupling with a Mudblood. Maybe he was as sadistic as the whole lot of them, playing some loathsome game with her until he grew bored. She knew what happened to those girls who offered themselves, knew how far she had yet to fall, if they broke her completely. She couldn't give in! Her stomach lurched crazily for a few seconds and Hermione could only manage a shallow breath.

_I don't understand! How was it I kissed him back whe__n I should have pushed him away? How is it I'm still thinking about him now, in spite of the fact that he's the vilest man I know?_

She wiped her tear-filled eyes with the backs of her hands and took in a shuddered breath. It was this new life, the new struggles, and the fact that she was so damned lonely, that was all.

_Well, I'm done with __that. I'm done hoping in him. He's only out for himself, isn't he?_

With somewhat steely determination, Hermione returned to the mess on the floor, fighting with herself, and trying to forget the feelings that Draco Malfoy had brought out in her. She couldn't cave to him – she _wouldn't._ She had just finished with the last remnants of glass when she heard him behind her. Footsteps, a hesitation, another few steps, and then silence – but she knew he was there.

"Granger."

Hermione felt her world spin for a moment when he uttered her name. For some reason, now it was different. She wouldn't turn around, willed herself to stare straight ahead, seeing nothing.

_He is the enemy. He is the one man whom I shouldn't ever have trusted, hoped in. _

"Leave me alone, Malfoy."

She was poised to fight back this time, in case he had returned to finish what he had started, and her heart was rattling inside of her like a broken thing. Her voice held a quaver, in spite of her efforts to be strong. But he didn't move – nothing did – Hermione couldn't even hear him breathing. In some ways, this was worse, she realized.

Then he spoke, the sound small and choked.

"I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."

Then, he was gone, and Hermione turned just in time to see his back disappear down the stairs, leaving her alone once more. The fight faded from her, her limbs went slack, her body nearly sinking to the ground and her breath leaving her in one whoosh.

He had sounded lost. Like someone who would never find his way.

He sounded the way she _felt._

Hermione rushed to the kitchen, sank down into one of the large wooden chairs, and wept.

_How much__ more can I take before I break completely?_

* * *

><p>Draco stared down at the small missive and then back up at Pansy Parkinson's stupid, fucking simper.<p>

"What is this, Parkinson? You know, this alienage isn't a one stop shop! You can't just…"

He stared back down at the letter in his hand, willing himself to not react, even though his stomach had soured and gone leaden. He fought with the feeling of despondency as his brow furrowed.

The day before had proven to be one of the worst and most confusing days of his life since Voldemort's takeover of the Ministry. And it had nothing to do with his life, his work, or politics. No, it had everything to do with one particular Mudblood that had somehow gotten under his skin.

He had seen the fear in her eyes, and in spite of the passion between them, and the fact one some purely physical level, she had reacted to him, still, he knew she didn't _want_ him.

_For fuck's sake! What is wrong with me? I've got to get myself together. A Mudblood? Granger? If someone new, I'd never be able to show my face again. I can't possibly be feeling this way! It's madness!  
><em>

It rocked Draco in ways he couldn't comprehend, and certainly couldn't explain away. And now, on top of that, he also had to deal with Pansy _fucking_ Parkinson.

She stared at him, her expression of pure delight, eyes challenging him to tell her no. When he didn't speak, she opened her mouth.

"It's not like others haven't done it," she told him with mild satisfaction. "You know about Flint and me, don't you? I'm sure he's told you rather colorful stories of his…conquests?"

Draco's face was a pale scowl. She continued, studying her nails with feigned interest.

"I've taken to bed with him more than once, you know."

Draco felt slightly ill at the thought. As if her announcing such a thing made her more desirable.

"And he tells me of all those stupid little Mudbloods who think that their bodies will help them get out of this place, save their lives. They're here for our use, Draco. So why not?"

She focused her piercing gaze on his face.

"After all," she drawled, "Your wife handpicked my favorite little Mudblood, didn't she? If you ask me, that's quite the coincidence, no?"

Draco hated her – he hated her voice, the way she spoke, the smug look on her ugly, dog face. Hated her more than he could recall hating anyone, ever.

"No one asked you, Parkinson."

Each word was a venomous assault.

Pansy gave him a pleasant-looking smile that masked her obvious hatred.

"Are you sleeping with her, Draco? Is that what it is? I know you feel something for her, or she would be dead already. She's different, isn't she? You think you can hide something like that?"

Her voice was smooth, like sugar mixed with a lethal dose of cyanide. Pansy's eyes flickered over Draco's face, and he felt like he was being studied not just on the outside, but on the inside as well. She was right, he realized. Pansy knew him, and it complicated matters. A whole hell of a lot. His eyes narrowed.

"You're bloody sick. I wouldn't touch her!"

The lies poured from his lips, and he wondered if somehow, Parkinson _knew. _She smirked, watching him closely.

"No? Even though the others are doing it? What makes you so much better?"

Draco's eyes blazed in a white face of nothingness.

"I'm not discussing this with you. I'm married, and happily so. I wish you'd get that, you oafish, thick bitch."

It angered him even further to see her smirk.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste, is there, Draco? At any rate, Astoria got her pick of the alienage, so now it's my turn."

Her eyes gleamed with feigned innocence, and Draco decided he wanted to put that light out forever. His voice nearly cracked when he spoke.

"What could you possibly want with Lily Potter? She's four years old. She can hardly work, and she's already terrified."

Pansy gave him a cold smile.

"I need a child handy. You know, to do…things around the house. And Flint is always looking to experiment. You know how he is with those Dementors. To him, it's one jolly game!"

Once more she wore the look of complete satisfaction, and Draco wished he could curse that look off her face for good. He'd have enjoyed it, too. Swallowing behind gritted teeth, he spoke.

"You'll leave Lily Potter alone. She's too young to go anywhere, she's not a Mudblood, and she stays with her mother. You want a Mudblood? Take your pick, but I won't have you terrifying any children to make your sick, little point."

Pansy laughed. It sounded like bells on a clear day, and that made it even more frightening.

"Well, what you want me to do doesn't matter. I don't want a Mudblood. I want my pick of the alienage. I want Lily Potter. Collateral, so to speak."

Her eyes flashed hatefully in his direction as she continued, her tone tight.

I'll have her, or I'll make a stink. You can't saunter around this place acting like King. This isn't Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy. It's London, and it's _my_ alienage, not yours. You don't run this place, I do."

Draco turned away from her, lifting his head high, and trying not to completely loose his cool. Control.

Control.

"Collateral?"

_I need control._

He didn't turn around, even when she started to speak.

"Yes. You give me Granger, and I give you Potter. If you keep Granger from me, I get the little girl. It's quite simple, isn't it? Especially since you don't care about that disgusting little Mudblood. Or so you say."

There was a nasty challenge in her voice, and she dared him reply. Draco had no real choice.

"You think this is going to hurt me, Parkinson? That somehow, I have some attachment to Granger? You're wrong, and you're sick."

The words were venomous.

He stalked out of the office, carefully keeping up his composure until he was well away from the alienage and the horrors within it. Shuddering, the boy inside him struggled to the surface, and he felt a burning sensation behind his eyes, one he hadn't felt in a long time.

Tears?

Merlin. Would he be reduced to tears over something like this? Parkinson's words rang in his hears like a cacophony of sound, melding with his erratic heartbeat and labored breathing. Fists clenched he stood up straight, trying to gather himself, to think of something, anything besides the mess he had gotten himself into.

_If I hadn't taken her in, if I had let her die that first night…_

But it was too little, too late, wasn't it?

_Knee deep in __shit, Draco._

He swallowed the tears that were still threatening the edges of the wall of calm he was desperately trying to cling to.

He didn't know what to do.

* * *

><p>The following morning dawned clear and crisp, with a hazy yellow sun that played hide and go seek behind fluffy marshmallow clouds. Hermione had spent the morning with Lily and Ginny, valiantly ignoring the nasty comments from her bedmates, using Justin as a shield, for the women were never as bad when he was around. As usual, she gave Ginny and Lily her meager breakfast, and then prepared to meet Malfoy. On this day, nothing was out of the ordinary, and as she set out across the courtyard towards the entrance to the alienage, a light breeze ruffled her curls. The road leading away from the enclosure was all too familiar now, for it was where she always waited for Malfoy. But even in the face of such an ordinary day, it felt strange, surreal - for when she thought of him, she could only recall the taste of his mouth, and it rendered a cold, paralyzing fear within her.<p>

_When will it happen? When will he force me __to-?_

Hermione heard the familiar crack as he apparated behind her, and whirled to face him.

He did not stare at her with his usual indifference – his eyes were not cold and gray like a frozen pond in winter. His lips – sensual lips, she knew now – were not twisted down in a scowl. Hermione saw fear – and she knew it, because she felt and saw it each day. She saw Malfoy fighting against it, trying to remain nonchalant, wearing a transparent cloak of blasé.

"What?"

Her utterance of that single word was too tight, too strained to be normal, and her breath caught in her throat. But his reply was what turned an ordinary day into a living nightmare.

"It's Pansy Parkinson. Lily is in trouble."

Hermione's heart stopped, then shattered, and she reached forward, stumbling towards the rough stone building nearest to her, hoping that her legs would hold her up. Behind her, through the ringing in her ears, she could hear him, talking to her, calling her name, but nothing registered.

_Lily's in trouble. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no…_

Her hand fumbled for the building, connected, her knuckles scraping harshly against the mortar as she sought stability, something, anything to keep her standing. Her eyes filled with hot, bitter tears. It was at his hand that she found her bearings, and she managed to turn around to face him.

"What happened?"

A hoarse whisper was all she could manage. But there was nothing except his pale, somber expression, and gray eyes capable of heated passion, now cold as they gazed on her.

"You were her nasty little project, Granger," he ground out, and she saw his jaw clenching, tightening with each word.

He yanked his hand from hers in one vicious move.

"And when I put you out of harm's way, she took it personally."

Hermione thought her heart would burst; it was hammering with such vehemence.

"But…Lily? She hasn't done anything…"

It was impossible to speak, and still he wore the infuriating, blank stare. When he spoke, it was mechanical, empty.

"A blood traitor for a Mudblood, Granger. She wants to hurt me. She wants to destroy you. She's going to take Lily and I don't know-"

Panic welled up from the heart of her, a wave that destroyed everything in its path, causing her heart, her breath, everything – to stop. For a moment, Hermione felt faint, felt the darkness advancing on her, and she felt her heart skittering out of control, the sobs loud in her own ears, mingling with the ringing already there, and Malfoy's insistent but unrecognizable words.

She reached for him, her fingers biting into his flesh, pressing, squeezing in her panic, and try as he might, he wasn't able to pull away.

"You have to stop her!"

The words were a mangled mess of half whispers, uttered from between white lips peeled back to form a painful grimace. He took a step back, against the wall, opening his mouth, sensing her utter despair which was matched only by his own bitterness and confusion, and he whispered in return.

"I don't know if there's anything I can do."

And on that brilliantly sunny early fall morning, with the promise of a beautiful day, Hermione Granger Weasley snapped, broke completely. And the only one to witness it was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Draco stared, his eyes widening when he saw all color drain from Granger's face, so what was left seemed a stark white reminder of despair and shattered hope. He couldn't speak, couldn't offer anything to ease her complete devastation, and as he watched, tears streamed down her face and she began to quiver, first in pain and then in white-hot rage. And he was only half aware of the softly keening pain that her grip on his arm rendered, for she refused to let go, clamping down like a vise.<p>

"Granger-"

She cut him off instantly by tugging on his hand with such force he came away from the wall and stumbled.

"No…no, no no, Draco, no…"

The sound of his name on her lips was distorted, strange in his ears, a half whisper, half moan. He didn't know if she had ever said his name before, and the sound of it on her lips startled and moved him. Those fingers dug into his flesh even deeper. He winced and tried to pry himself away to no avail.

"Look – Granger, you have to listen to me-"

Her eyes were distant, strangely disconnected from the rest of her, as if she were far away.

"No, no, no…no NO NO NO!"

Each word was louder, more pronounced and he knew it was only a matter of moments before someone noticed them, heard her animalistic wails and then-

"Granger!"

His voice was a hiss of warning, his eyes flickering to the courtyard nearby as he held his breath hoping no one had yet noticed what was happening.

"Shut up for Merlin's sake!"

He yanked his arm away from her claw-like grip, feeling her fingernails ripping as he did so, his blood crimson against pale skin. Staring with horror at the wound she had inflicted, he glared at her.

"If you don't stop this, they'll kill you!"

When her hand came up to smack him, fingers still curled like claws, he grabbed her forearm, bringing her against himself, her small body burning hotter than it should have.

"Do you understand me, Granger? They'll murder you! They don't care who they destroy, don't you know that? You're nothing but rubbish to them, and they won't hesitate. Will you shut the bloody hell up?"

He could _hear_ his own panic, for Draco didn't know what he would do if they DID kill her, but not even this seemed to rouse her from whatever had possessed her. She was more animal now than woman, her eyes glazed with tears and rage, her hair a glorious mess of chestnut and gold around her shoulders.

"NO! Let me go, Malfoy! LET ME GO!"

Twisting violently in his arms, she tried to fight him, biting into his shoulder, screeching like a banshee, tears running down her pale face in torrents, the sobs wracking her body so that she shook with them.

And to his complete horror, he felt his own eyes filling with tears as she wailed, suddenly aware of what a horrid place the world was now. She was sobbing, her words tumbling over each other in her panic.

"You don't understand! G-ginny did everything for me! She took care of me, and sh-she is the only f-family I have! Oh, I can't- I can't let this happen to Lily! I-ca-can't after what…what happened to the boys! How-how can this happen? Don't you s-see? It's m-my fault! MY FAULT!"

The wail became so high-pitched and screechy that the worst happened – Draco could see it had roused the attention of one of the officers, who moved with purpose across the dusty courtyard, as the others watched him.

_Bloody hell! Oh, Merlin's sodding ass! What the fuck am I going to do now? They'll destroy her, they'll tear her apart, they'll-_

It was Mulciber who approached, and this was unfortunate, for he happened to be the worst of the lot. Draco realized he had to act, and he had nearly no time to do so. Without thinking, he tore at Granger's arm so hard, she screeched in tortured pain and tumbled to the ground. She stared up at him dumbly then, a picture of complete destruction, tears still rolling thickly down the sides of her flushed face.

"Silencio!"

He hissed the word, his wand pointed at her and then, all was silent.

"Everything all right, Sir?"

Draco stepped between Granger's fallen body and Mulciber's view.

"Indeed."

He hoped that his voice did not betray him.

"Just one of those annoying Mudbloods, as usual. I'll have her disposed of shortly."

He could see Mulciber stopping, and his consideration of the situation before he shrugged.

"Just making sure. I thought I heard a commotion."

Draco offered a tight grimace that he hoped passed for a smile.

"She won't be making any more noises. Rest assured. Carry on."

Seemingly satisfied, Mulciber turned and wandered back the way he had come.

Draco stared down at Granger then, his eyes wide. She looked back, mutely, but her heartbreak was evident in each breath she took, each endless tear that dripped from her chin, trembles that wracked her body. The only sound now was their labored breathing, and Draco reached out to help her, his own fingers wrapping around hers in an unsteady grip.

_I'm shaking, _he realized.

Draco saw her wince as she stood with his assistance, and moving quickly, he tucked her behind the building they had been standing by, so that here, they were alone. For a moment, everything around them was the picture of calm, and he found his voice, though it was tinged with fear.

"Do you want to die, Granger?"

He lifted his wand.

"Finite."

* * *

><p>Hermione felt him lift the spell from her, and she swallowed once, twice, three times before finding her voice. When she tried to speak, she was so drained from her outburst, and in such pain from where he had yanked on her arm, she could hardly make a sound. In the end, she only whimpered.<p>

Hermione had no real choice, she knew. The man before her was her only hope. Again. What a world it was, where in it, Draco Malfoy was her savior. She turned her eyes, which swam with fear and pleading, towards his.

"You have to help her. Please, Draco."

She searched the lines of his face, gazed into his eyes with all the pleading she could muster, saw the fear and the uncertainty. She saw that he had shed tears. Without wanting to, she slipped her icy fingers through his.

"I know you can. I'm begging you."

For the first time, Hermione was aware of the weakness in him, of the flicker of heat in the depths of his slate gray eyes, the disgust mixed with the helplessness.

"I'll do anything."

Swallowing back disgust, Hermione reached out, placing her hands on his chest, fingers splayed, running them up around his neck.

"Anything. You said- you said yesterday, about submitting. I will. I will submit, completely, in every way. I swear. If you want me, I am yours."

She closed her eyes, fighting the fear and the repulsion she felt, and then pressed her lips against his, and kissed him. At first she felt nothing, it was as if she was kissing stone, and she began to panic, her heart hammering within her.

_Kiss me__ back, you stupid, pathetic piece of trash! Kiss me back!_

She grew more insistent, her fingers delving into his thin, blond strands, willing herself to forget where she was and what she was doing. Her mouth and body were flush against his, and Hermione willed him to react. For a few breathless moments there was nothing, and then suddenly she felt him tremble in her arms, and give in, his lips melting against hers willingly. Hermione felt a glorious second of victory, in which she almost believed she could tempt him into doing what she wanted him to. It didn't matter that she had offered her body in return, only that Lily be safe. As he kissed her, she ran her hands down his body, along the thin, muscular planes, trying to un tuck his trousers from his shirt, to show him how serious she was, how much she was willing to do.

"Whatever you want," she muttered against his heated mouth – and she tasted mint, smoke and something intoxicating that was Draco himself. Struggling against her senses, Hermione reminded herself that this was for Lily, and it didn't matter that he was so-

"Fuck, Granger. Get away from me!"

She felt herself stumbling backwards as he shoved her, the same feeling of coldness that had left her bereft only a day before. His eyes flashed in her direction with unbridled passion, and his lips, flushed from her abuse, twisted into a sneer.

"Are you mental? I can't help you! You think offering yourself like a wanton slut is going to help? I'm not Marcus Flint!"

His voice quavered with desire and shock, his eyes wide in horror. Still, she came at him, reaching to touch his face, stroke it against the back of her hand, her eyes an open book of determination and the flash of one desperate.

_If not Draco, then no one_, she realized. _If not Draco, then Lily will die_.

"You can," she whispered.

His eyes closed against the touch of her fingers.

"I can't! Don't you see? I can't! It's not my place, this is not your world anymore Granger! I can't save you or Lily! I can't even…I can't even be my own salvation!"

A sob, as she shook her head in disbelief, her voice breaking under the strain of her terror.

"You mean you won't!"

He found his ground, moving away from her, the touch of her, the sodding sight of her.

"You're right, I won't!"

Hermione fell to her knees, her face flushed with desire and shame. What had she just done? How far had she fallen? And still, Lily could not be saved. Burning tears of pain and anger ran down her face.

"_I HATE YOU!" _

Her scream echoed around them, and as she watched him through a hot haze of tears, he yanked the sleeve of his shirt, slightly mottled with the blood she had drawn earlier.

"I'm not your savior, Granger! I'm a Death Eater!"

He jabbed at the mark on his arm, smeared with blood, his expression ripe with disgust. He shook his head, trembling violently as he stumbled away from her, eyes wide. His words were whispers of regret.

"And don't you forget it!"

Hermione crumbled to the ground, cradling herself tightly, sobbing until she could no longer breathe. And he was gone. Gone, and she was alone.


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks to all my reviewers – you guys are the best.__ Those who have read my other chaptered stories know that I don't write smut often. I have two PWP smut one-shots that were both written for challenges at a Dragon Age writer's group I belong to. However, this is my first attempt in the HP fandom. So yay for you guys, right? Having said that, here you go, in this installment, Draco gives in – and marks Hermione as his own. Sort of. Warning to those who are disturbed by flowery depictions of a sexual nature between Draco and Hermione – this story is "M" for a reason. ;) _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER SIXTEEN<p>

* * *

><p><em>If you want me, I am yours.<em>

Draco stared blearily into his half-empty glass of gin. Though firewhisky was quite satisfactory when he wanted to toss back a stiff drink or two, he preferred the singular taste of Muggle spirits. Besides, it was easier to get lost and be forgotten at a Muggle bar. At least, it was for him, no matter how ironic it seemed. Here he was, Death Eater, but sitting at a bar amongst those he purportedly hated. As he wrapped his palm around the glass, its contents shivered slightly from the trembling of his hand.

He had left the alienage, without telling _her_ he wasn't coming back, and not signaling to any of those that worked for him that he would be gone for the day. He had simply left. There had been no looking back, and no thinking. And the only way Draco had found to muddle his thoughts, to blurry the visions of _her_ in his mind – was alcohol. But not even three or four stiff drinks erased Hermione Granger from his mind.

_Sodding Merlin on a stick!_

Draco could not easily explain what he had felt at her touch, at the way she had _looked _at him when she had spoken…those words. The words that echoed, that rattled, that awakened desire within him.

_If you want me, I am yours._

He shifted on the barstool as the delicious ache started up within him once more, just as it had when her lips had pressed so harshly against his, stiff at first and then more gently, and in those final moments before he had broken away, with passion.

Somehow, she had realized it, then. A secret desire that Draco found so equally horrific and fascinating, was no longer his own secret. He didn't _want_ to want her, but-

_Bloody hell, she knows. What the hell is she doing? Stalking me? Can she read my sodding mind? Am I that transparent?_

Not that it was a surprise to Draco. After all, the Mudblood had been the brightest witch in their year, if he recalled correctly. On his list of reasons to hate her, that had been nearly number one, after the fact that she had been Harry Potter's best girl friend. He had spent years hating her because no matter how hard he had tried, Granger had always managed to one up him in their lessons.

_Know-it-all._

Draco found himself smirking lazily as he thought of her, and he twisted the glass he held in his hands with slow deliberation.

Ironically, in this case, it was the truth. Merlin, the way she had _looked_ at him! Like he was the only man in the world! As if she would die if she couldn't have him-

_It's not real. It's an illusion.__ She's preying on that sick, weak part of me. It's what she wants me to feel so that I'll-_

He paused, swallowing the remnants of his glass in one gulp, a heated burn rushing through him like lightning, making the room spin. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like with Granger. He had already considered giving in, just having one taste, one night, that was all. His fingers trembled at the thought of being with someone again, and not just anyone – she was…she was…

He stared into his empty glass unseeingly.

_Tempting little witch._

And it wasn't like he'd be the only one, really. He already knew the others were doing it, sleeping with her kind weren't they?

_And I woul__dn't tell anyone. It would be my dirty little secret. _

In his mind's eye, once more he saw her in the late afternoon sunlight, that crazy hair pinned up to her head, the escaped curls falling against her neck, tempting him, that mouth…it had the potential to destroy him and bring him such pleasure-

_Fuck._

No, not even a thousand strong gins would make this feeling go away. Draco was impossibly tangled in a web he didn't understand. And now…

_Granger for P__otter. Therein, my problem lies. If I tell her what Parkinson wants, she'll gladly trade places with Lily. But then..._

Then, he would lose Granger. His mind stopped in horrific realization.

Well, there was no way in bloody hell that he was going to let _that_ happen.

_Could__ I help Lily? Perhaps, at great risk – to all three of us. Could I keep up my end of the bargain? If I want her, that is. Is it worth it? What am I thinking?_

As a few of the other patrons gave him dodgy looks, Draco dropped his head against the top of the bar and groaned.

* * *

><p>Hermione stared into the mirror; the woman reflected looking back with wide, sad eyes. She had spent all morning cleaning the house, not stopping, not even for a break or to eat something – for she knew to keep from falling apart as she had done all the previous night long, she needed to keep working.<p>

_Lily…_

Hermione's hand came up to cover her mouth as she tried to muffle the heart-wrenching sobs that shook her violently.

_Lily…_

They had come for Lily that morning, and Hermione knew she would never forget the little girl's wailing, her tears, and the way she had kicked until one of _them_ had smacked her in a silencing effort. She would never forget the little girl's beautiful green eyes, so full of frightened tears. And she would never, ever forget the pale, gaunt face of Ginny Potter, who had lost her only little girl to a monster like Pansy Parkinson.

Last she had heard from Justin was that Lily had been taken into London, to Pansy's flat.

_I have to find a way to get her out of there! To get her away from Pansy, from this God forsaken city and the alienage!_

But try as she might, Hermione had come up empty, for no ideas seemed feasible. She was utterly hopeless, she realized. Without a friend in the world who had any influence, and her last hope having died out at Draco Malfoy's rejection of her.

_Why did he __not want me? Don't all men want it?_

Hermione stared down at herself, a look of confusion flickering over her features, and as she considered her plight, she felt shame at what she had tried to do. What she was _still _willing to do, if it would protect Lily.

_I'm no better than the women at the flats in London, am I? They sold themselves to make money and now I'm…I'm…_

Drowning in self-loathing and shame, Hermione turned away from the large, ornate mirror and stumbled out of the powder room and up the stairs to where she had left her mop and bucket. Blinking through her tears, she moved to the fourth floor, where the second bathroom was, a glorious one made of marble and white ceramic tile. It was the same bathroom where she had shamed herself that first day. Standing in the middle of the room, Hermione stared at herself hatefully in the long mirror.

_I'd be a Death Eater's whore._

The reality filled her with such wrath, Hermione wanted to scream. Is this what it had come down to? Was her life not enough to them? Did she have to submit her dignity too?

_Lily…_

For Lily, she would. Hermione steeled herself, and then stepped closer to the mirror, scrutinizing the pale, but not altogether unpleasant countenance reflected there. She forced a smile. Her image smiled back, but it was not natural. Groaning, Hermione tried once more, this time lifting her chin up a little. Her hands came up to twist a few chestnut curls, the ones that had escaped her bun, around her fingers.

_He wants me…_

Sadly, it was all Hermione had. The only hope, her only saving grace, the last card she had to play. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she regarded herself in that mirror.

_If I give him what every man wants, surely, he'll help me, won't he? He's saved my life before, hasn't he? _

As this thought marked her mind, Hermione knew that it was still a gamble. After all, he had pushed her away, in spite of her great effort. As she studied her tiny, turned up nose, and the large brown eyes that she had always thought were rather pretty, another, stark thought filled her mind.

_What if I don't know how to be what…a man wants? I never was one to fancy boys, was I? I never did know how to flirt, and with Ron it hadn't been…it had been friendship first, and then-_

She took in a ragged breath and let it out abruptly, staring at her reflection as she ran her hands down her body in appraisal, feeling a mixture of fear and shame once more. Then she deftly removed the pins from her hair, watching as it fell around her shoulders in a crazy storm of curls and frizz.

_Sleekeazy__'s…oh, Merlin, what I wouldn't do for a bottle right now!_

Biting her lip, and without consideration over what it looked like, Hermione began to search the cabinets and the small closet within the bathroom in hopes that Astoria's hair wasn't naturally perfect.

_No one has hair like that without some kind of help, surely!_

She nearly squealed as she found what she was looking for; a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion was tucked towards the back of the closet, and she fisted it quickly and rushed back to the mirror. Unfortunately her hair had seen so little tending over the years, that even the potion did little to truly tame the frizz, but Hermione managed to get it to lie around her face with more order, the curls framing her face gently.

_There…_

Leaning towards the mirror she wondered if there was anything else she could do to make herself more desirable to him. Thinking quickly, she began to pinch her cheeks to give them a bit more color, and bit her lips several times for the same effect.

Never had she, Hermione Granger, ever taken much time with her appearance. And she had never imagined that she would, especially after marrying Ron, and the fall of the world she had known…

She glanced back at the girl in the mirror, sighing. The reflection mirrored the sadness and worry she felt in her heart, but it could not be helped. Her clothing was still shabby, her hair a more manageable mess, and her face without makeup, but it was the best she could do. Satisfied that she had done as much as she could with what little she had to work with, Hermione slipped from the massive bathroom and then moved down the carpeted hallway towards Draco and Astoria's bedchamber. She had never been in this room excepting to change the sheets, and this time when she slipped inside, she stopped to survey her surroundings.

The room was large, with high, vaulted ceilings, and massive ceiling to floor balcony windows that opened to the outside. They were covered with filmy curtains. Beyond that lay the small balustrade that overlooked the street below the house. The bed was bigger than any Hermione had ever seen, and, down to the sheets, it was luxuriously dressed in creams and whites. The furniture, what little there was to be found here, was of high quality oak. She ran her fingers along the tall dresser and Astoria's dressing table and mirror. Though she presumed that this would be where the couple slept, the only sign of use was indicated by the messy top of Astoria's vanity, which was littered with all manner of containers, bottles, combs and makeup jars.

_Not so perfect after all, _Hermione thought with a slight twitch of her lip.

There were no personal touches – no photographs of any kind, and in spite of herself, Hermione found herself wishing that there was something here to indicate what Malfoy's life had been like in the six years she hadn't seen him. Strange, that the room was so cold, so impersonal.

Finally, with a huge breath, Hermione lowered herself onto the impossibly soft mattress of the bed, running her fingers along the thick cream comforter.

_It could be worse. I could be giving myself to someone else. Rookwood with those lurid eyes, or Flint. Merlin, at least Malfoy has shown me a fraction of kindness in this world. Those others…_

She shuddered in fear.

_I'm __doing this for Lily. I have to, for it's all I have left._

Steeling herself, Hermione held her breath when she heard the door opening way below her, signaling that Malfoy was home. For a few moments there was nothing but her erratic heartbeat.

Then she heard his footsteps, and saw the look of confusion, and then hesitation when he saw her. His face was touched with color, as if he had just come in from a bitter cold, and upon further inspection, Hermione realized that he had been drinking. Indeed, the air was touched with the scent of tobacco and liquor as he walked into the room.

"Get out."

The words were not harsh, and he moved past her towards the doors to the balcony. Hermione's eyes followed his.

"I hired you to keep house, not to sit on my bed."

He stepped onto the balcony, and the doors shut behind him, closing the space between them.

Draco fumbled for yet another fag, lighting it with trembling fingers and inhaling the smoke into his lungs as he stared down at the semi-busy street four stories below him. Her presence in his bedroom, of all places, unnerved him, but he wasn't about to cave as she wanted him to. Even though she hadn't followed him out onto the balcony, he could _feel_ her watching him, and the picture she made in his mind was unforgettable.

_Did she…change her hair? What the hell is she doing?_

Closing his eyes against the emotions that raged within him, Draco took another harried pull on the cigarette. The balcony doors opened behind him and he stiffened, but did not turn. Now he knew she was there.

"What are you doing in my bedroom, Granger?"

The question held poorly forced contempt, for it was mostly the sound of a broken man. She took a huge breath.

"I think you know."

His head turned sharply and his gray eyes pierced all the way through her, to her soul. Hermione swallowed, but remained stoic, her knowing eyes never leaving his face.

"She's a child. Don't you think after everything that they've already gone through for me, that I wouldn't do everything in my power to try and help Lily?"

The words weren't angry, or sad, or any of the things Draco would have expected. Instead, they were resigned and determined, and her eyes shone in his direction with hope as she stepped up next to him, lifting the palm of her hand up towards his face. Though he wanted her touch more than anything – it stirred everything within him – he caught her hand, pulling it down to her side firmly.

"When I said I couldn't help you, Granger, I wasn't lying."

Tears filled her eyes, but he pushed forward, squaring his jaw.

"I have a job to do, a Lord to answer to. If it came down to it, and I had to choose between you and…"

He turned away from her, something harsh flickering over his face for a brief moment.

"Well, I wouldn't choose you."

He couldn't bear to look down at her, afraid of what he would see in those expressive eyes. Instead, he stared sightlessly ahead. His cigarette winked out and he tossed it aside, taking a huge breath.

"I know you're different," she whispered, and he shivered, for the breeze ruffled her hair and it tickled against his elbow.

He quickly jumped away, afraid of her closeness, and his growing weakness in her presence.

"No."

"Yes," she insisted. "I saw it that day, in London, when I first saw you again."

After a long silence, he turned slowly and faced her, raising one eyebrow. Then he turned around and walked back into the house, the glass doors slamming behind him. Hermione knew it wasn't too late, that she couldn't give up, and without hesitating, she followed. When she walked through the glass doors into the room, he was glaring at her, a scowl on a face that was marred by anger and something else, something she didn't take the time to think about.

"I'm not surprised, Granger," he mocked, "Playing Jesus of the Mudbloods, are you? How far do you think you'll get? Why can't you get it through that fuzzy-haired, thick head of yours that no one is a savior in this world!"

His words were meant to wound, but he found no satisfaction in seeing her face fall and watching her eyes beginning to flood with tears. When she spoke, her voice broke.

"I have to t-try."

A single tear rolled down her cheek and he wanted to bloody kiss-

_-Impossible, this is impossible-_

He wanted to kiss it away. Damn. Swallowing that erratic thought, he rolled his eyes.

"You don't make a bit of sense, Granger."

"If I don't make sense, then what have you been doing this whole time? Why not let me die? What's it to you? You hate me, and I hate you!"

"Bloody right."

"So then why?"

He grew angry.

"Who are you to ask me questions? Shut up!"

He turned away from her, using anger to mask his fear that she would see through him and know that he didn't have the answer to that question. That he understood even less, possibly, than she did. Taking a deep breath, he struggled for calm.

"Leave me be, Granger."

There was a silence.

"Draco."

His world stopped for a split second, a feeling he was unaccustomed to, and then her damned hand, so soft and silky, slipped into his. He tried to shake her off, but she held on. His disgust washed over him until he began to grow ill with it. Disgust at himself for wanting her, and disgust with her for so blatantly throwing herself at him-

_Why don't I just do it? Why don't I just__ throw her on the floor and take her the way I've thought about taking her? Why am I hesitating?_

It would be too easy, he knew. She would not put up a fight, and even if she didn't _want_ to-

He flung off her hand and faced her, sneering.

"Look at you," he mocked with a hiss, his eyes traveling up and down her body brazenly, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't supposed to be entertaining thoughts of agreeing to her utterly insane proposal, no matter how much he wanted to. "I remember a stupid little know-it-all spouting the Gryffindor ideals of morality and the right thing, and now look at you!"

His voice was much too harried to be considered normal, but Draco couldn't keep his warring emotions at bay any longer. How he hated her! How he wanted her! How impossible it was that he could even _be_ feeling anything towards her!

"You'd be down on your knees begging for me if I wanted you to, wouldn't you?"

The challenge was before them, and Hermione, feeling tears of shame rushing her wide eyes, blinked hard, but did not back down.

"If you asked."

Her whisper held no emotion, and Draco's mouth fell open in shock.

"So that's how you like it?" he spat. "Rape turns you on, does it?"

He couldn't keep the quaver from his voice, as he stared at her tear-filled eyes. She winced, as if in pain. Her lips trembled as she spoke.

"It is not rape. I am willing. I-it is what I want."

Her words were as raw and honest as the stark look in her eyes, but he was well aware that none of that equaled passion. She did not desire him, at least not the way a woman in her position ought to have. He felt a swirling of hatred mixed with poignant need. He wanted her to want him, not just-

Draco stopped breathing, wondering if he were having a nightmare. This seemed impossible, and yet, she stood there, offering everything to him. He spoke, but at first his voice was too hoarse to make intelligible sound. When he did finally manage words, they were weak.

"Stupid little sacrificial lamb, are you? Offering yourself to the big, bad Death Eater?"

She ignored the way he mocked her, only gazing up at him with peaceful assuredness shining in her large, brown eyes.

"Whatever I need to be, I will be."

Even the way she spoke was a reflection of her clear choice.

Draco watched her with a strange fascination, and his hand came up, fingers caressing the inside of her elbow and gliding downwards, to her hand, and his eyes followed suit. She wrapped her fingers around his and brought his palm back up, placing it firmly on her body, pressing her hand down on his, giving him silent permission to do whatever he wanted.

His breathing hitched, as Draco felt the sudden heat of her skin against his splayed fingers, and even though he didn't will it so, he reacted quite enthusiastically to just the touch of her. The logical part of his mind knew that she couldn't possibly desire him at all, knowing what he _was_ and what his people had done to her family and those she loved and yet, the rest of him, his body, desired her in spite of that. The pull he felt was unlike anything he had ever felt before. She leaned closer to him and he breathed in the soft scent of her, cutting off a moan that threatened to escape, just as his eyes fluttered closed at the touch of her fingers against his lips.

_Oh, Gods…_

His breathing grew shallow when he felt her breath against his mouth.

"Save Lily, and I am yours. Anything you want."

Granger.

Granger, and yet, not Granger.

Granger, yet, a temptress.

Never had he felt this way, never had any woman enchanted him this way before. His eyes snapped open, wide in their burning need, and he gave in to her, his words a frustrated hiss.

"Gods, just give me this," he moaned, and then he was kissing her wildly, his mouth melting with hers, his trembling arms pulling her against him, so that it was impossible to tell where the hard edges of him ended and her soft planes began. He was completely engulfed by her heat, but it was a willing submission. Surrendering to her touch and the taste of her was much too easy for Draco, and he delved into the depths of her silken mouth, unable to withhold the groan that escaped. As he kissed her, he willed it never end, for in her arms he was discovering a blissful escape from the rest of his dreary existence. It was easy to forget who he was when she was kissing him. Perhaps, that's why he wanted it so much.

Hermione blinked up at him when the kiss ended, and she waited, breathlessly, for him to do what he was going to do. It would be now, she knew. It would be with Draco, and it would be to save Lily. Her eyes searched his flushed face, finding that she liked him the way he was now – blooming with color and life – at her touch. She tingled as her chest heaved in anticipation. She wondered what it would be like with him, wondered if his touch would be different than the ones she remembered from so many years before, with Ron. Were all men the same? Would it feel the same? Would it be different, cold, and pointless?

_No matter. I made this choice, and I will live with it. _

The anticipation began to wear on her already tense and fraying nerves, and what had at first been bated breath was starting to bloom into slight panic. Did he not want her? Was she not good enough? Would he not help Lily?

Hermione opened her mouth to speak when he did something that rendered her speechless. He leaned over and placed a kiss to her forehead, kissed each of her eyes, her cheeks, and finally those heated lips found purchase against hers once more, and Hermione wrapped her arms around him once more. She told herself she was not going to enjoy it, that it was simply the means to a very important end. He was hateful, he was the enemy, and he was-

_Gods, can he kiss…_

She lost herself in him when he deepened the second kiss, and then the third, and her fingers, which had tightened around his neck, found their way into the depths of his silken hair, pulling at it just as he nibbled along her lower lip, causing her knees to go weak. He tasted of smoke and fire, spicy with a touch of bitter. She fell into him without even thinking, drinking him in as a parched man would water.

Draco felt her responding to him wildly, and he thought that if she was faking it, he would simply die if ever this…_thing_…between them became something real.

_It never will be.__ How can it? She abhors the idea of who I am, and to be with her is to defile myself in the worst way possible._

And yet, he refused to let her go.

The girl in his arms held nothing back, submitting to him in wild abandon, and following eagerly as he began to back across the room, searching unseeingly for the bed that he knew was there. When the backs of his legs found it, he let himself fall, pulling her with him, not wanting to let her go, not now, not when he felt this good.

Hermione groaned as she pressed herself against the hardness of his body, which was such a stark difference from the softness of the bed they had tumbled on, and her hands roamed along him, his shoulders, his chest, the long, muscular legs and then back up along his face, kissing him with increased fervor. It was strange, she realized half consciously, that she should feel anything for the man whose arms she so willingly occupied. Her lips plowed a passionate trail down along his firm jaw, the softness of the heated skin on his neck, and then along his collarbone, where she felt his pulse against her lips, fluttering like a trapped butterfly. His reaction caused her to gasp and bury her face against his neck for a timeless moment.

_For Lily._

She reached for his trousers with trembling fingers, and then he gently pushed her off him, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting up, burying his fingers in his already tousled hair. She joined him there, crawling across the space, lest there be any distance between them.

"I can't. I won't."

His words were muffled, but she sensed despair. Fear. Uncertainty.

No. No, she couldn't have this. She _needed_ him.

"Draco-"

"Do not call me Draco."

She swallowed, still feeling the heart of her beating in every inch of her body, still the ghost of his fingers against her burning flesh. His words were harsh.

"Call me what I am. Death Eater."

Hermione touched his shoulder, and he flinched. She reached for his forearm, seeing the Mark there, dark and foreboding. Branding him a thousand horrid things without a single word. Killer. Bigot. Heartless. Hateful. Her fingers ran along that mark, slowly, lingering for a moment on the scratches she had put there in her earlier fit, still pink and raw. She lifted his forearm and brought it against her chest.

"I know what you are," she whispered, her eyes locking with his, just as he gazed upon her.

As he watched in horror, she brought her lips against the Dark Mark, forcing herself to stop thinking, in spite of the images of every horrid thing he had ever done flashing across her mind.

_Don't think of who he is. Don't think of the things he's done. For Lily, this is for Lily._

Never did her gaze waver.

"I know," she whispered against his skin. "And still, I am yours."

The utterance was broken, a strangled sound that fell from her parted lips.

Draco tore his arm away from her, as if her lips were burning him, his eyes wide with disbelief.

A second later, he closed the distance between them by yanking her to her feet and claiming her mouth with his once more, testing her, pushing her further, making Hermione feel like she was floating. She wondered why he didn't just get it over with, push inside of her so that this whole thing could be over, and she could hold up her half of the hateful bargain. But he wouldn't. He was being too slow…too gentle, and she didn't like it. It…it was making her feel something. It was making her…_want_-

When he broke the kiss, his eyes were like molten lead.

"Do you want me?"

His words were a groan of desire, and Hermione swallowed.

_Now. It's going to happen now._

"Yes."

She forced her eyes shut and leaned into him, feeling his breath against her chin, her neck, his kisses, the love bites, feeling his body, his desire, pressed hard against her.

"Liar," he whispered before kissing her feverishly once more, his fingers getting tangled up in her long hair. "But, by Merlin, I'm too selfish to give a damn anymore. I want you. You win, Granger. I'll do as you ask, so long as you are mine. Anytime, anywhere, and any way I want you."

Her eyes shot open and she gazed at him confused, as his silver eyes took her in like a man famished.

_What does he mean? What ways…?_

She thought of Marcus Flint. Of the disgusting stories she had heard. Of Rookwood's strange, covetous gazes.

_For Lily._

His eager hands made their trembling way down her body, along the line of her skirt, her bum, and along her knickers. His touch was hot, but not altogether unpleasant. Hermione struggled not to arch to his fingers, convincing herself that he was loathsome. That it was only for Lily. Only for-

"Mine, Granger."

His words were possessive, ringing with a tone of desire she hadn't heard before. And by the Gods, those words stirred a deep, dark longing within her – an ache she refused to acknowledge. Because in the end she knew that he didn't love her; he lusted after her. And she didn't love him; she needed him to protect Lily.

There was no other way.

Hermione's eyes closed again, and she gave into his ministrations, afraid her legs might not hold her up as his fingers dipped beyond the elastic line of her white knickers, towards the heat waiting there. She was nervous, she was terrified, she prayed he be gentle, and then leaned up to kiss him, if only to distract herself from what was happening.

Draco found her as he imagined she would be – ready for him. He groaned in satisfaction, increasing the pressure of his kisses, his fingers exploring her more deeply. The whimper he received in return made his mind whirl with the deliciousness of what it would be like to finally take her. He couldn't wait to see the flush along her satiny skin, the heave of her breasts, the noises she would make when he was finally home within her-

_Does she want me? Does it matter? She's__ already offered and I won't refuse. It's too much to refuse._

Hermione's knees went weak as his fingers danced along her most intimate places, clutching him to keep from falling. His hands moved faster, ceaselessly and Hermione bit into his shoulder, her head rolling back mindlessly.

_I hate him__...I hate him…I hate him…_

She gripped his shoulders more tightly as his hand moved faster, and then faster still, and she forgot to feel anything but what he was doing to her. The feeling roiled within her, growing, shifting, changing, in waves of pleasure, until she felt herself freefalling over an explosive edge – her body rigid for a split-second before falling into him, limp and spent.

Tears blurred her vision. Was it over? Would he not…have her? Pulling away, Hermione gazed into his face, hers flushed with her passion and the shame she felt in the heart of her. Somehow, she had expected his eyes would be full of derision and his expression one of disgust. At how low she had fallen and at how far she would go to help someone else. But instead, he wore a look of fascination, his body still tense against hers, and his fingers burning and flat against her belly. Hermione's legs were like jelly, and she did not trust them to keep her standing, so she clung to him still, her lips parted as she sighed.

"Oh…"

Never had she felt anything like what he had just done to her. A part of her cringed in disgust, but the other part wept for more of his touch, his heat, the hardness of his body-

_No. I don't want it. I didn't want this. I have to do it._

Swallowing her confusion, she opened her mouth, the words hoarse from pent up desire.

"Why-why didn't…you…?"

It took everything in Draco not to attack her like a wild animal and finish what he had so slowly begun, for never had he seen brilliance the way it reflected in the passion awakened eyes of Hermione Granger. Groaning he pressed his cheek against hers, heat against heat, shocked at just how erotic it had been to _watch _her.

"I wanted to watch you," he breathed into her ear. "Remember, you are mine now, and I do with you as I please, do I not?"

He felt her shudder and then melt against him in submission. For a few seconds, their hearts returned to normal, and finally, Draco pulled away, albeit reluctantly. The rest of the world was slowly whispering a dreary reminder in his ear, and he knew that no matter what happened here, in that room, that afternoon, that he was still a Death Eater. And she was the target of the Ministry's hatred. And he still-

"Fix yourself up," he told her, stepping away to readjust his trousers and the linen shirt he wore with unsteady hands. "My wife will be returning soon."

Hermione found herself inexplicably confused at how a man who had shown such passion a moment before, could be so cold the next. And though she would not acknowledge it, on some level, it both frightened and pained her. Blushing at her traitorous thoughts, she fumbled to smooth her skirt, and button the blouse she wore. Her hands ran through her tousled mane, and she was unable to look him in the eye, wondering what he was doing to her, what his plan was.

"Same as usual in the morning, Granger, and I'll take you back just as soon as I see to my wife. Remember, you are a Mudblood and I am a Ministry Official."

She waited, holding her breath, for reaffirmation of their bargain. He hesitated at the door, his pale, long-fingered hand poised at the knob. Then he turned, gazing at her with what she knew was imagined gentleness, for he did not know understanding, did he?

"I'll need time if I'm to help Lily. But I will keep up my end of our agreement."

Hermione sank down to the bed once more, weak-kneed with relief, and their gaze went on a few seconds longer than she imagined it should have. Then with a strange, curt nod, he was gone, leaving her alone, but not without hope.

Hope once more, in a man she should never have hoped in.


	17. Chapter 17

_A huge thank-you to everyone for all your support! I researched it, and JK Rowling has never__ clarified Lavender Brown's blood status. I read what I could on the Lexicon, and for the sake of this unfolding story, and the role she will play, Lavender is Muggle-born, like Hermione. In this part and the one to follow, I introduce Blaise Zabini and Lavender Brown, and touch on the role that she, especially, will play a long way down the line. Bear with me, there might be questions at the end of this, but the part that follows should answer most of them. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN<p>

* * *

><p>Things changed. It wasn't like Draco hadn't expected it.<p>

After all, one didn't go from lusting after a woman to…giving into said woman like a man lacking self control without it changing…something. He was loath to call what he had with Granger a relationship, because that would mean feelings were involved, some level of caring, and he knew that Granger saw what they had forged as a business arrangement. No feelings involved, end of story. He chose to blatantly ignore the annoying little voice in the back of his mind that often reminded him that he cared on some level. It didn't really _matter._

But, even so, it was different knowing that what he lusted after, he could have at any time. It made him see her differently, and he knew what had happened between them in the bedroom was only an erotic prelude of things to come. Even if she didn't care, he could still have her, and that's all he cared about. At least, that's what Draco would tell himself, for he found that he was undoubtedly fascinated with her.

In fact, Draco knew it to be beyond simple fascination. For Granger, he would risk his position in the Ministry. For her touch, the things she had promised him if he protected Potter's little girl he would-

_Potter's little girl. I can't believe I've a lick of concern for that silly little bint!_

How things changed, he mused dryly. Never in his wildest imaginings would he have believed that he, Draco Malfoy, would be protecting Harry Potter's little girl. It seemed preposterous! If Potter were alive, he had no doubt they would finally be in agreement on something.

And yet, all preposterous things aside, he sat in the small Muggle coffee shop the following morning, nervously clutching a rather conspicuous red and pink mug full of Earl Grey, his silvered eyes flickering across the busy room in search of a man who hadn't arrived yet. He was late. Predictably, he'd call his lateness fashionable, but right now, it was irritating the piss out of Draco. Sitting at a coffee shop had never been his idea of a jolly time, coupled with the fact that this…thing…he was doing for Granger wasn't an easy feat, and was not without risk.

But, hell, she didn't know that. She probably hadn't considered it, what with her Jesus complex.

_Sod it all!_

He took a swallow of the hot tea, wishing, not for the first time, that it were something stronger. The annoying bell above the wood and glass door tinkled for the hundredth time since Draco's earlier arrival, but this time the bell announced the man he had been waiting for.

Blaise Zabini sauntered across the room, his slanted eyes having spotted Draco almost immediately. His demeanor was cool, one of airy confidence, and he wore the long black cloak and trousers signifying the highest rank within the Ministry of Magic.

"Malfoy," he drawled, pulling out the pink chair and falling gracefully into it, as he eyed the other man.

Admittedly, the new world had changed everyone – none of them looked easygoing any longer- but Malfoy, well he looked…

"You look peaky, Mate," he commented in a bored tone. "Work got you stressed?"

Draco ran a hand along his face, groaning.

"Among other things."

Blaise watched him keenly, yet the taller, darker-skinned man offered no conversation, which led Draco to take another swallow of the now nearly lukewarm tea. Blaise watched him over the rim of the cup and then rolled his eyes, speaking at long last.

"Well, you certain didn't invite me here for a rousing game of gobstones, did you? What's going on, Malfoy?"

The blond man paused, making a face before he spoke.

"No pleasantries then, Zabini? Fine, I'm here to ask a favor."

"This better not have anything to do with those ruddy alienages."

Draco snorted.

"That, and more. That, and Pansy Parkinson."

Blaise made a disgusting sound in the back of his throat.

"I told Bella not to put her in charge of that place! Merlin knows I have enough trouble running the one on my side of the city, and someone is always coming to me complaining about something that's happened at _yours."_

His face was one of disgust.

"There's the constant fighting there, I hear. And Flint can't seem to keep his dick in his trousers. Wanker."

This, at least, Draco could understand. Blaise cocked an eyebrow.

"So what's she done now? Stupid bitch is power hungry, isn't she? That, and she's barking mad, which is a dead awful combination."

Draco finished the tea, and then the grip he had on his mug tightened significantly.

"She's…tormenting a little girl, just four years old. Not even a Mudblood, but Parkinson's got some kind of hang up about-"

He paused, not sure how much to tell the man sitting in front of him. Draco had never learned how to trust anyone. He had found that usually, in the end everyone was out to get everyone else. The less people knew, the better, had always been his philosophy. Even with Blaise Zabini, whom he had called a friend at Hogwarts, and who, even now, knew more than anyone else did.

Blaise's eyes narrowed.

"You've got your knot up about a little girl? So, Pansy's keen on torturing children now? How's that much different from her usual sadistic repertoire?"

There was a long silence, and Blaise's words took on a suspicious tone, though his dark eyes reflected curiosity.

"I'm piqued. Who's the child?"

Draco realized this is where it would get a bit dodgy, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.

"She's Lily Potter. You know, Potter and Weasley's youngest brat."

"Wait, what are you on about, Malfoy? Potter's daughter? D'you fancy Weasley, is that it? I heard she was staying at the alienage. Funny really. You, shacking up with that red-headed blood traitor?"

The look on Zabini's face was one of condescension. Draco stiffened, his face white against the black of his uniform.

"Rich coming from you, Zabini. How is that Mudblood you fathered a child with doing nowadays? She still alive? Did you manage to get her out of Britain so you can spend your nights dreaming about her and the day you can be together again?"

The words were snide, and the look on Malfoy's face was one of triumph.

Truth be told, Draco knew little about the situation between Zabini, the Mudblood, and a child that the Ministry had tried to keep under wraps. He had lost touch completely with Zabini shortly after the other man had been promoted within the Department of Law Enforcement, and the two men had gone in different directions. He had only heard later, from someone else, what Zabini had done.

He paused for a moment before continuing casually.

"So I'm sure you know that even if I _were_ with Weasley, which I'm _not_, it would still be one notch up from your taste in women."

Zabini's dark eyes blazed with anger.

"How dare you?" he spat. "What I did was my weakness! It's not for anyone to mock, especially you, since you need my help!"

"Quite right, though I simply wanted to point out your hypocrisy."

There was a long, tense pause. Zabini put his face in his hands, and Draco marveled at how time and the new regime changed people. Long gone was the man whom Draco had always believed lived and breathed cool confidence. Zabini was a broken man.

A moment later, his words were muffled from behind his hands, so that Draco could hardly understand him.

"I'm very well aware of my own hypocrisy, Malfoy, but do not want to discuss it."

Draco smirked as Zabini continued, pulling his hand away from his face, revealing a sneer.

"So go on then…the poppet?"

Draco twisted the empty tea mug in his pale hands, looking at Zabini thoughtfully.

"I need you to…somehow go over Parkinson's head, get the child transferred to your alienage. And then…I happen to remember that you helped make your own son or daughter disappear when the Ministry found out. It's one thing to shag a Mudblood but a whole different game if you get her pregnant, isn't that right?"

"Malfoy, I swear if you say anything to-"

"I want you to make Lily Potter disappear like you made your child and Mudblood mistress disappear."

Silver eyes met dark ones, and Zabini looked panicked.

"I didn't make anyone disappear, got it?"

The dark-skinned man leaned across the table, his gaze intense. Draco paused and then replied in an acquiescent, mocking tone.

"Fine. You didn't make anyone disappear."

There was another tense silence, but this time Draco could see that Zabini wore a look of consideration.

"Where is she now? I can put the request in, draw up the paperwork, at least that'll be the first step. Once she's on my side of the city, I'll try to get her out of London."

Draco sighed.

"How long would it take if I tell you that Parkinson has the child now? I tried to stop her, but she went over my head. That's why I need your help."

Zabini gnawed at his lower lip.

"That might be a bit more complicated, then. And it'll carry quite a price."

* * *

><p>Things changed.<p>

Hermione knew it the moment Malfoy had walked out of his bedroom, leaving her behind to compose herself and face the rest of the world. What had happened between them was clearly business to him. As it should have been, she decided firmly, because she didn't truly care about him.

Even so, it was difficult to return to the everyday, when each time she saw Astoria, images of Malfoy, flushed with desire and passion, replayed in the forefront of her mind. The way he had kissed her, and Merlin, the way he had _touched_ her! But she tried for normalcy for it was what Malfoy wanted, and she was in no position to refuse him – no matter his request. So she did dishes. Changed the sheets. Prepared the food.

But most importantly, she tried to avoid Astoria, which was rather impossible for the woman was always around, complicating matters. She would be coming in from one event or another, getting ready for something, or leaving the house to go do something. To run into her was inevitable, and so in the end, Hermione settled for simple silence in hopes that in that way, she would be rendered nearly invisible.

Astoria was not Hermione's only worry, however. It was the dark worries over Lily's state that occupied most of her thoughts, and the fact that since the day in his bedroom, Malfoy had not touched her.

_Does he not want me? Will he not hold up his end of the bargain?_

She knew obsessing over it would not help, but even so, she was terrified that her only hope would be dashed. Perhaps, he was truly playing a game. Or maybe, somehow, Astoria had found out. Or, worst of all, he had never intended to help her, using her in such a foul way simply to get his jollies and-

_No. Impossible. I'm Muggle-born, and certainly he wouldn't bother__ to sully himself with me unless he…_

Unless he what?

To that end, Hermione had no answer.

She wasn't sure how many days had gone by since…_that_ day. Two? Three, maybe. Four at most. And each was a little more tense and awkward, since Malfoy spent little time at home and left her to the whims of his wife.

_Damn you, Draco. Wait, what? Malfoy, not Draco. He's not Draco. He's…he's…_

Hermione shook her head to ward off any more strange thoughts. The kitchen floor needed scrubbed and then she had to launder the sheets, which would take most of the morning and if she wanted supper ready early (as was Malfoy's usual request) she would have to work quickly.

With that in mind, Hermione willed herself to stop thinking and start working.

Unfortunately, the sight of Astoria putting sugar into her morning coffee was what met her eyes when Hermione walked into the kitchen. Without missing a beat, she quickly wiped the counters and pulled a large bucket from the cabinet near the door, doing her best to ignore the woman in the resplendent aquamarine robes. She was a picture of wealthy perfection, right down to the exquisite precious stones that decorated her delicate fingers and sparkled in her ears. Sparing her no more than a half-glance, Hermione hurried from the room.

But not quickly enough, she realized.

"Look at me."

Astoria's tone floated through the kitchen to the doorway where Hermione had frozen, bucket in hand.

"Is the coffee not to your liking?"

Hermione's tone was tight, and she did not turn around. Her response elicited a nasty snort from Astoria.

"It's not the coffee. Look at me when I speak to you. Now."

As Hermione turned, she could see Astoria beckoning to her with a strange wiggle of her fingers. Not knowing what else to do, she moved mechanically forward, standing before Astoria, but not lowering her head in submission.

She had submitted enough, after all.

Astoria's lovely face was marred by a frown as she seemingly considered whether to speak or not.

"Do you think he's different? My husband, I mean?"

Hermione wondered if it was a question poised to trick, some nasty little trap that she was about to fall into. In the end, she followed the rule of silence, her eyes bright within a face of defiance.

"I know the stories they tell about that….place he works at," Astoria sniffed, her tone going sour. "I know what women in your position do…to survive."

Hermione bristled at Astoria's tone for she could sense the clear disdain that it was imbued with.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she managed to reply in spite of her sudden rush of hatred.

The words were lies, but after all, she was looking into the perfectly made up eyes of a woman who would never know what it felt like to do whatever was necessary to survive. It was women like Astoria Malfoy who put others in a position which they then turned around and mocked. The injustice nearly made Hermione vomit, but all she could do was clench her fists and pray Astoria would finish her daily derisions, and dismiss her.

"I think you do," replied Astoria in an airy, knowing tone. "Look at me."

This time, the order was more firm.

Hermione, who had looked away for she felt ill at the sight of the other woman's glowering gaze, looked up again, her eyes shooting silent daggers. But she did not speak. Astoria's voice was disdain draped in silk.

"You think I don't know what Draco does when I'm not here?"

She offered a laugh, but Hermione thought it was the most joyless thing she had ever heard.

"I see you walking around the house, you little whore. You think you can worm your way into his bed, do you? A shag to save your life?"

Hermione swallowed back a nasty response, trying to stay calm and not give away the truth. She felt Astoria's icy gaze penetrate her and she stood firm, staring back at her without fear.

"What? Nothing to say? Can't defend yourself, can you, Whore?"

Here words were a vehement sneer.

"I assume you're still here only because he hasn't gotten between those nasty legs of yours. But once he does, you'll be part of the trash bin, you will. There won't be anywhere for you to go. I guess the Dementors always need things to do, don't they?"

Hermione didn't move, didn't react – though inside, her heart had already plummeted to the depths of despair, as she knew that one of the gambles of making the decision she had made was that Draco Malfoy could do as he pleased, and if he didn't want her anymore then-

"He's just like all the others," Astoria stated matter-of-factly. "He'll use you, just like that prat Marcus Flint uses the women he's with."

Hermione's eyes burned but she didn't dare blink to give away her emotional reaction. No. No, Draco was different. She had believed it to be so, wanted it, even.

_She just wants to upset me. That's all. It has to be all. I can't let this woman cloud my __judgment, to doubt myself. I've made my choice, I have to be strong._

Astoria offered a simpering smile.

"He's not yours," she reminded gently. "He never was, and he never will be. He's mine, he married me; I am his wife. His _wife._"

Hermione's jaw quivered and in that moment of ephasis, a look of triumph appeared in Astoria's eyes.

"He might fuck you at some point or another, Merlin knows, they all do it, but in the end, who do you think he'll choose?"

The silence was so deafening, it hurt.

"It must be a dream to have a husband so devoted to you, then."

Hermione had wanted to be strong when she spoke, but the words, though hateful, were equally choked with emotion she had tried in vain to hide. The sarcasm was evident, and for that, Hermione received a well placed lash across her face.

"That'll teach you to give me cheek, you big-mouthed bitch."

Hermione was used to it by now; this pain was no worse than what she had already suffered by the hand of the others. She simply glared at Astoria, who let out another harsh laugh.

"You'll see who'll be standing last. Mark my words; you are a thing of impermanence. I was his choice, and will always be his choice. Now, get out of my sight."

Needing no encouragement, Hermione hurried away, into the hallway, holding back her tears and her breath until she knew she was alone. Then she shook with her silent, terrified sobs.

* * *

><p>The two women sat on Hermione's cot, hands clasped, and fingers intertwined.<p>

Ginny's face was pale, and since the day Lily had been taken from them, she had stopped sleeping. Dark circles now dominated her face, lining the weary, lackluster eyes that Hermione recalled had been beautiful, at one time.

"Justin's been a lifesaver. Somehow, he always knows…what's going on. That monster never lets Lily out of her sight. But they say Lily looks well. Pansy has not yet harmed her."

Ginny's words were barely a whisper, and Hermione's leaning on her shoulder had a two-fold purpose; she wanted to hear her better and she yearned for the comfort of another's touch. As Ginny's whisper faded into the melee of sound around them, Hermione took a deep breath knowing that there was little comfort for Ginny, for knowing Lily was faring well did not change the fact that she was not there, with them, safe and sound.

"Lily's going to be all right."

Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand.

"You're a liar," she whispered in reply. "But I still love you more than I can say. Oh, Hermione, none of us are going to be all right!"

Funny, how a whisper had the power to break Hermione's heart.

The pain and the fact that she had given up all hope was evident in Ginny's moan and it was so heavy with pain that it left Hermione speechless for a moment. She thought of Malfoy then, of those few moments in his room, of the promise he had made to her.

_What do his promises mean?_

The thought was an unwelcome one and Hermione shuddered. As pointless as it seemed, that promise was the only thing she had to cling to, the only thing that she could offer Ginny.

"Don't give up hope. I know it seems dark now, but there's…I just know, she's going to be all right."

Ginny pulled away for a moment, and once more Hermione was reminded of the pain that the red-haired woman was going through. Ginny searched Hermione's eyes for a silent moment, seeing the faint light of hope there.

"You really believe that."

It was a question, but more of a statement, and Hermione nodded, swallowing hard.

"I do. I know it."

She tore her eyes away from Ginny's when Hermione realized that there was a look of confusion and then curiosity that appeared on her face.

"What did you do?"

For the first time, there was hope etched along the lines of Ginny's face and her hand tightened in Hermione's.

"Please don't tell me you did something to jeopardize yourself."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. How could she tell Ginny the truth? She was the only person whom Hermione loved more than her life, the only person whose opinion still mattered. How could she tell her how she had shamed herself?

_I can't. Not now. Maybe, not ever, but so long as Lily is all right…_

"Does it matter?" whispered Hermione, lowering her brown eyes.

Ginny remained silent, and for a long moment, neither moved, and when she spoke it was soft, yet commanding.

"I want you to be safe, Hermione. I love you. I love you for being my brother's wife, for being the one person whom he could trust. For loving him, loving my children and family."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I never want to live this life without you."

Hermione's face fell and she wrapped her arms around Ginny tightly.

"And I never want to live this life without knowing I did everything, I gave up everything to protect your children."

Her tears answered Ginny's. Before either woman could say another word, the din in the room was interrupted by yells and screams from the darkened courtyard outside of the sleeping quarters.

The angry screams of a woman scorned.

* * *

><p>Draco stared at Zabini for a moment.<p>

Somehow, it felt good to know that someone else was on his side; someone else was willing to go against the Ministry.

Zabini understood Draco's predicament – at least in this, there was hope.

The taller man sat back, giving Draco a casual appraisal, though for the first time since Zabini had walked into the coffee shop, the veneer of casualness had cracked, the fissure revealing shadows of desperation.

"If I help you with this, I want your promise to help me."

Ah, so that was the price.

Draco's lip curled for a moment, as he eyed the other man. Of course, Draco realized that nothing was free. There was a tense silence as Draco waited. Finally, Zabini spoke, his voice harsh with darkened emotion, his slanted eyes moving from side to side to make sure no one else would hear what he had to say.

"You know nothing about what happened to me since the last time you and I were together, Malfoy. What I did, siring that child, it's the only reason I can't-"

He looked down at the table and when he spoke, it was cold.

"She never left Britain, Malfoy. No matter what they've told you or what you've heard."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he watched Zabini with a hint of interest.

"The Mud-mother of your child?"

Zabini offered a soft snort, but it wasn't one of derision. It was something sad, something Draco felt he understood.

"In fact, she's still in London."

This was surprising to Draco, who had believed that somehow, Zabini had connections to get people out of London, even England, if need be. This newfound news staved off the blossoming hope that had taken residence in Draco's heart. He didn't show it, however, speaking an unemotional reply.

"How's that possible? We've had to herd all of _them_ into those bloody alienages, haven't we?"

Zabini let out a dry laugh, and rang a long finger along the edges of the table between them.

"For being top of your year, you're dead thick, Malfoy. I protected her."

His gaze was dark, but clear, his voice a quiet but emphatic hiss.

"She's bright, and determined. And I was…desperate, and…quite good at those disillusionment charms Flitwick taught us way back when."

The words faded and the Zabini's gaze morphed into longing and sadness.

"I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did. They caught her two days ago. I heard from someone – I had put her up in a flat near Paddington Station half a year ago, and…they raided it the other night. I see her every other Tuesday, you know. The others have kept it mum, even after the baby, but-"

Draco wondered what the Ministry would think of one of theirs frequenting such an area in the city, but he realized so long as no one made waves about the personal lives of the Officials, anything went. Men had needs and-

_But there's a blood baby now. No wonder they tried to hide that. __An Official siring a baby with a Mudblood?_

He understood Zabini's desperation in hiding the baby and his mistress.

"Who is she?"

The curiosity got the best of him, and when Zabini's eyes met his, they were lost.

"You know her. She's the little biddy that went to school with us, Lavender Brown."

Draco's eyes widened, but Zabini beat him to words.

"But you say nothing, or you'll be sorry."

Draco cleared his throat, his look one of wariness, and his words were rough due to the shock of what he had just learned.

"So…what is it you want from me?"

The other man took a breath, his face falling, his anxiety written in his face, and his words painted a picture of shame with broken, tearful edges.

"They've taken her to your alienage. Help me. Keep her off the list of those receiving the Kiss, protect her, and I swear, I'll do what I can to protect Lily Potter. I need Lavender. It's sick and it's twisted, but in this life, I _need_ her."

Draco was speechless as the truth washed over him. Lavender Brown? The same Lavender who had come onto him when he had first taken the position within the Ministry? A girl had at one time been bright and hopeful, turned dark and desperate, sad, and reduced to using her body to-

He was in shock, because he saw himself reflected in Zabini's eyes. After all, he knew what it was like to lust after someone he shouldn't. To want something he shouldn't. Nothing in this new world seemed right, anymore.

Why should this have been any different?

He turned to Zabini, a thousand questions bubbling to his lips, although he imagined the other man would not want to answer any of them. But, Draco knew he would.

The Ministry was like the Dementors, he was realizing. It sucked everything from everyone, making the joy, the hope, all of it disappear. And all that was left was bitterness and desperation.


	18. Chapter 18

_Your support is appreciated, you guys.__ To all the new readers (I see you!) let me know what you think! Guess what, I have this done already – it was written before, but I tweaked it to make it work as the second part to Blaise and Lavender's story. I've written it in parts, going back and forth between them. It will be relevant to the end of this tale – trust me. After this, we go back to Dramione.:)_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN<p>

* * *

><p>The two women rushed to the doorway of the sleeping quarters, and Hermione peered out into the inky darkness beyond. There, she saw a woman struggling in the center of the courtyard, trapped between two Ministry officials, who were holding onto each of her elbows.<p>

She was a pathetic, yet still, formidable sight, as she struggled and writhed against her captors vehemently. All Hermione could see in the darkness was a tangle of long, curly hair that hung down her back.

"Let me go, you vile cretins!"

The voice was loud, ringing across the darkened courtyard, and something about that voice touched Hermione. She didn't know if it was the sound, or the pain it was imbued with, the injustice, the hopelessness…

_I recognize that voice…_

The woman let out another yelp, and yanked hard to try to get away, growling one moment, and nearly sobbing the next. As they neared, the yellow, weak light from the buildings that spilled into the courtyard illuminated the two officials; they were Rookwood and Mulciber.

_Gods, help that poor girl._

She sent up the prayer of supplication, wishing she were strong enough to help.

Hermione felt a deep pull of familiarity and sympathy for the yet unnamed woman, because she knew what it was like to feel that helpless and trapped. Too many times, she had felt that way. Too many times, there had been no light to be shed to brighten her darkness.

"Let me go, I tell you!"

The girl looked up at Mulciber, hatred in her demeanor.

"Months ago, you were one of them, weren't you? I was good enough then! I was worth those 100 galleons, wasn't I? You hypocritical bastard! You paid to lay with me, and now I'm rubbish? Now, I'm the filth? Let me go, your useless wanker!"

Her voice rang out with desperation, anger and…pain.

* * *

><p>The bell announced the arrival of an older Muggle holding a newspaper. Draco's eyes followed him listlessly, and then returned to Zabini as he spoke softly.<p>

"So that's when it started with you two?"

Draco's mug was once again empty, but from the looks of things they would need something stronger to get through Zabini's tale of woe. Unfortunately, neither of them wanted to get up and go elsewhere.

"The night in Paddington, when we were with Flint?"

He made a face, recalling that night. It had been Zabini's birthday. Draco had just been promoted within the Ministry. Flint had just started working there. The world had seemed at their fingertips, and none of them had given a thought to those worse off than they were. After all, they were Death Eaters. That night, it had seemed like the world was their playground.

Now, Zabini hung his head.

"Yes, that night."

Draco waited for him to continue, but he was silent for the time being. All around them, the sound of the evening patrons created a soft murmur.

He remembered Lavender Brown from that night, and it was quite surprising to Draco, for he hadn't thought about her for a moment since, not even considering that she could be the Mudblood connected to Zabini.

Draco had laughed at her -a cold, ruthless laugh. So had the others, whilst she had stood there, shocked at seeing them, perhaps because she hadn't taken the time to hide the sudden recognition that flickered in her much too-knowing eyes.

At that time, he had believed that he was laughing because she was a Mudblood reduced to doing exactly what she deserved – nothing. She wasn't a witch, she wasn't even a woman, simply an object to be used. Selling herself, defiling her body with any number of men. He had convinced himself that there, in that smoky club right off of Sussex Gardens, is where she belonged. He remembered sneering at her, and watching as those wide blue eyes filled with tears of shame.

Now, he knew better. Now, he knew that the laugh had been forced. Once he had allowed himself to truly think about what he had felt the first time he had run into Lavender outside of Hogwarts, he found himself admitting that the laugh had been one of shock, of sadness, perhaps of revulsion, but not without pity. He had pitied her, in spite of himself.

Lavender had been one of _them_, those stupid, worthless Gryffindors. He had never cared a whit about her before, and he still didn't, although he was unable to _not_ feel for the girl's desperate situation. Perhaps, it had been that way for Zabini too.

Indeed, Zabini's face was turned down in a painful frown.

"She came onto you, I recall."

Draco swallowed, having pushed that memory from his mind. Yes, it had been true. Flint had laughed at him, egging him on, telling him that he wasn't married yet, that this would be one last good jolly before taking to bed with Astoria Greengrass. He hadn't wanted to, not even when Lavender had offered herself blatantly on the proverbial silver platter. It had disgusted him, made him wince. The others had laughed, but they hadn't seen his revulsion, and even after Draco had gotten up from the table, she had followed him…

"_Don't leave me here. I'll do anything you ask, be anything you need…__you don't know what it's like, do you? Being alone in this God-forsaken city, not knowing anyone! Please, I'm begging you…"_

Still, he could hear the timbre of desperation, of fear, in the voice of a woman whom he had turned his back on, never to look back. He had hated her for putting him in that position, hated himself for being so…callous…

Draco's eyes burned.

He remembered her face, covered in garish makeup, her brazen words, and shameless come-ons. Even now, so many years later, the remnants of the sick feeling his stomach remained, the pity he had felt, the disgust…

The bell above the door to the coffee shop sounded once more, and a group of teenaged Muggles walked in, talking and laughing, stirring Draco from his not-so pleasant recollection.

Why was it that women had been able to read through the lines, feel out the sympathy that had always been a strange weakness within him? First, Lavender, and now…

_Granger._

He tried not to think of Granger, though it was nearly impossible.

"You never left with us, did you?"

The question was not one of surprise, because now, things seemed to make sense to Draco.

Zabini looked up.

"No, I didn't. That's how it started. I thought she was easy. Of course, she was. I just didn't realize that once I touched her, I'd never be able to let her go."

His broken words had never struck more familiar chords within Draco's heart.

* * *

><p>"You bastards!"<p>

Her screams were punctuated by spitting, but only won her a hard shove, that sent her flying and prostrate against the dust. Rookwood leered at her and then gave her a sharp kick.

"You're nothing but a Mudblood whore. You think just because we lay with you, that you mean anything to anyone? That you have any right to say anything? To be anything more than what you are, you little twat?"

Hermione could see in the faint light, that the girl's hair was a sandy, yellow color, and beautiful - thick and curly. But the face – the face-

_I know that face!_

A sudden leaden feeling permeated her insides and Hermione gasped, just as Ginny gripped her upper arm.

"Lav…"

Lavender Brown? Oh, Gods.

Hermione felt as she had felt upon first seeing Justin. What had happened to all those whom she had called friends? Yet another one had been brought here, but she was…

Yes. It was Lavender. But, not Lavender. The girl now struggling to her feet wasn't the Lavender that Hermione recalled from happier memories. She wasn't the bright, slightly flighty girl who had competed for Ron's affections so many years ago. There was no blush to her cheeks, no sparkle in her wide blue eyes, no silly little bows adorning her crown of splendid hair. No lilting laugh.

_Funny, how I hated that laugh back when we were in school. I was jealous, wasn't I? Jealous of her and Ron, and I wanted to hate her._

Now, she would have taken that grating laugh over Lavender's painful, sparkling tears.

_How everything has changed_, Hermione realized.

Though it had been too many years since the last time the two had spoken, it was evident that time had been cruel to the woman who struggled to remain upright on her knees. She was thin and worn, as if time had been a Dementor, stealing her vitality from her year by year. The face, once round and rosy cheeked, still held the faint recollections of the girl Lavender had been. But, here too, cruelty had left its mark. Now, she wore garish makeup, her eyes heavy with mascara and her lips smeared with red lipstick much too bright for her face.

_Oh, Lavender…_

Hermione knew, now. She knew what had happened to her old friend, what she had been reduced to.

_I'm lucky! Oh, I'm so lucky! I had Ron! I had the Weasleys! Lavender…_

Lavender was now standing, her cries silenced by the shove that had knocked the air out of her, and she clutched her arms to her barely covered chest, tears streaming down her face. And it wasn't just her chest that was barely covered.

She wore the signs of shame, the signs of use and abuse. A woman who had gone to any measure to make ends meet. Her eyes were too brazen, lacking all innocence, claiming no dignity. She was a woman who was now a man's playground.

Rookwood and Mulciber ignored the rising din around them, as the others who lived within the alienage had woken and gathered closer to the doorway, wondering what had caused all the commotion.

Lavender Brown stood, but she did not hang her head in shame in spite of her silent tears, instead stoically facing those, whose whispers rose around her. Hermione wished with her whole heart that she could take her former classmate away from this place, somewhere secluded, where she could be alone. Not this horrid place, where she would never be given any peace, where the officers who were one minute so cruel to her, would use her for their wanton carnal pleasures the next. Where, at any moment, she would be called names, mocked, derided, until she broke. Oh, they would break her. They would break everyone, eventually. If not, they would claim her life, more than they already had.

"Get in there, slut, and don't make me kick you again," Rookwood growled, giving her a shove which sent Lavender stumbling ungracefully towards the doorway.

The group gathered moved slightly to offer passage.

Mulciber laughed, and then the others around him did as well.

"If we had the permission, we'd get rid of your trashy arse faster than you can say Avada. Dumb wench. You nearly broke my finger with the last stunt you pulled! Next time you try something, I'm going to the superiors to see if we can take care of ya sooner than later!"

Lavender whirled around, her eyes flashing with hatred and anger, and she lifted her chin up to face her tormentors.

"Next time, it'll be your prick, although, if my memory serves me right, it might be too small to find!"

The harsh retort caused gasps to rise up around her, and Hermione stared, her eyes widening as Mulciber reared back and hit Lavender so hard she tumbled into the room, falling into the crowd that backed away from her as if she were diseased. They let her fall, without care, without concern.

Hermione fell to her knees, next to Lavender's fallen body.

"Lavender…"

The woman looked up, her face bright with a freshly blooming bruise to replace the faint signs of those from the past, her tears making tracks along her dusty, overly made up face. Recognition lit her blue eyes. Hope made her gasp.

"Hermione…"

* * *

><p>The old Muggle in the corner of the coffee shop coughed and rattled his paper.<p>

Zabini let out a sigh and Draco shook his head.

So that's how it had started between them. Something seemingly innocent, Draco decided. A shag, which all men needed from time to time. And the Ministry could hardly blame them, could it? Men had needs. Women, especially the Mudblood women, were more than obliging.

Certainly Flint had taken advantage, along with Greyback, Mulciber and sometimes Rookwood. Draco had never-

_Then what are you doing with Granger? Care to think on that?_

He didn't want to.

"I remembered her from school, you know. She was one of them, those Gryffindors, laughing and happy all the time. I knew it was shameful, but at the same time, something about shagging a Mudblood…"

It was difficult for Zabini to speak, and as of yet, he had not looked up from the table.

"I thought I would humiliate her, remind her of how disgusting she was, how she had to sell herself to make money. I wanted to laugh at her. I wanted to use her. And then, I found myself going back."

He let out a strangled sound.

"I told myself I was just mental, that it would only be one last time, but then…it wasn't. Then, she was at my flat, and she was smiling and making the rest of the bloody, cruel world just a bit easier, you know? We all want that, don't we? Look around us, Malfoy!"

His dark eyes were tormented when he finally looked up, the façade of devil-may-care completely gone now.

"Nothing is the way it should be. I thought at the beginning of this whole mess that Voldemort was the kind of wizard that could unite us, set all our sights on one, common goal. Bring us strength. Now, that's…"

Draco knew. Gone. It was gone.

* * *

><p>Her face was pale under all that makeup, and Ginny tried once more to help Lavender with the bruises, to make it easier for her to clean up her face, but the blond-haired woman pushed her away, just as she had pushed Hermione away.<p>

"I didn't know how bad it had gotten."

Her voice was cracked, husky from too many nights breathing in cigarette smoke, and her earlier bout of screaming.

"I didn't even know who they were, when they came to the cottage, you know, where mum and da had shop. They killed them both, and what could I do? Let them kill me too? I ran."

Lavender's hair fell around her face like a thick, heavy curtain. Hermione noticed even dirt-riddled, it was still beautiful, shining under the faint lights brilliantly.

"I thought London would be safe, though I didn't know the city. I thought I could hide."

Her voice was small and sad.

"They caught me, again. I fought. I fought them as hard as I could," she said with some pride, and Hermione couldn't help the smirk that appeared on her face as she listened to Lavender's sad story.

"They took my wand. I had nothing. No family, no wand, no way to take care of myself. The girls from Paddington found me. It's simply really," she finished, taking in a huge, shaking breath as she gazed up at Ginny and Hermione with tormented, shameful eyes.

"When you haven't a thing in the world left but yourself, you have to give that away, too."

A single tear rolled down her bruised cheek, and it broke Hermione's heart. Lavender was wringing her hands, and one of them came up as she caught her pinkie between her teeth. Her nails were small, painted a pink color, and bitten down to the quick.

"The first person I recognized in the whole world was Draco Malfoy. Ironic how he was the last person I'd have ever wanted to see…but things are different now, aren't they?"

Lavender's words made everything in Hermione twist so hard she nearly lost her breath.

Yes, yes, things were different now.

But the two of them, well, they weren't really that different at all.

* * *

><p>Zabini had turned his head away once more, his fingers trembling as they rested on the tabletop between himself and Malfoy.<p>

"At first, I hid her away like she was some nasty secret. I was afraid the Ministry would get wind of my…frequenting Paddington, but they never said a word. I suppose they believed that I was doing what I needed to do, but the truth is I wanted to be with her. I lied to myself, to those around me. She made me see the truth, she made my life easier, and she was the only thing that made me smile. Does it matter that she's a Mudblood?"

He grew agitated as he spoke between clenched teeth, his face a mask of pain.

"What happened to our future?"

His words were broken.

"What happened to the vision that I remember thinking was a good thing for the wizarding world? When did this disgusting prejudice become the most important thing? It clouds everything! It's like this…disease, that's eating away at the hearts and minds of those in charge, erasing their compassion, their goals!"

He shook his head, snorting, dropping his head once more.

"I noticed, one night, her bump. She hadn't even told me, she was so afraid. And, Merlin's beard, I was _happy._ Do you remember what happy is anymore?"

It wasn't a question to be answered, and neither man spoke for a long time. But Draco understood. He had known that joy, too, when he had gazed into Scorpius' eyes for the first time.

_I understand._

Zabini was speaking again.

"Someone found out. I don't know who and how, but, they came after her, and she was terrified and so I panicked. Those charms we learned with Flitwick, they came in handy. I used them. I bedazzled her flat, I made her look like someone she wasn't. I tried to see her as often as I could, but at that point, they were all suspicious."

He took a breath.

"She grew angry with me. I didn't know what to do. She wanted me to give up my life to be with her."

Draco was beginning to hate the look of despair that bloomed in the depths of Zabini's eyes.

"What would you have done? Love wasn't enough, was it? How does a man give up everything he knows, everything he's ever known, for something so uncertain?"

* * *

><p>Tears rolled down Lavender's face as she curled up against the cot, pressing her face to the rough, stucco walls of the building, trying to stay in the shadows, away from the prying ears and eyes all around her. Her fingers trembled as they came up to cover her face.<p>

"I thought all hope was lost. I had given myself to so many men at that point, and I was terrified that I would die that way, alone, with no one at my side. No friends. No family."

She shuddered.

"And Malfoy was so cruel, they all were. All but one of them."

She sobbed.

"Can anyone blame me for falling in love with him? How could I have known that he could never truly love me because of what I _am?"_

Though both Ginny and Hermione had tried to calm Lavender, to offer some sort of comfort, the horrified woman had shirked from them over and over, pushing their hands away time and time again.

"I though he might love me. I though if I just tried hard enough, that he would stay with me. We even had a baby, a beautiful, little girl."

Ginny clutched her hands to her breast.

"Oh, Lavender," she whispered tearfully.

The other woman glared, tears glistening in her eyes.

"You don't know what it's like! You don't know! You had your children! You had Harry! I heard those stories, I knew you had run off, both of you!"

She shot Hermione an accusing glare.

"I never had my baby! I never held her after that first time! I never got to tell her how much I loved her! Don't you dare say a thing!"

Lavender was grieving, and broken, her words tumbling over one another thickly, interspersed with bouts of choked sobbing.

"I begged him to stay, to make it right. I begged him to bring her back. I told him I loved him and wanted him, but he…"

Her jaw was stiff, her throat tight, so that the words sounded strained.

"He didn't listen. He took our baby, and I never saw her again."

Tears rolled down her face freely, much too quickly for her to be able to stave off the flow. They dripped from her chin, sparkling in the dim lights. Her lips trembled.

"He came to see me, that last time. I told him to get out. I told him I never wanted to see him again."

She clasped her arms over her heart.

"What else could I have done? I was so angry, and he was trying to tell me something, but I wouldn't listen. I wouldn't…."

* * *

><p>Zabini frowned.<p>

"That last Tuesday, I knew she was angry with me, I saw it in her eyes. I begged her to forgive me, that I had no choice. Who has a choice anymore?"

He looked down at the table resolutely.

"I came to warn her about them, that they were coming, but she wouldn't listen. She couldn't hear what I was saying. I did all I could to protect her, and now…now I can't do that anymore."

Draco stared at Zabini, his mouth parted, harsh, cruel words on the tip of his rapier tongue, but nothing came out but a rush of air. He understood cowardice, knew what it was like to stand on the side of something horrible and feel helpless to stop it from happening, even if you wanted to.

_Perhaps, we're all cowards. Perhaps, this new life has made us such._

Zabini frowned.

"They don't know for sure, mate."

His voice was low, his eyes glowing with urgency.

"They suspect her, and they wonder, but they don't know. There are too many girls in Paddington and I told them, I told them that it wasn't her. Now, I need your help. I had hoped that she would be placed within my alienage, but they're onto me. It's up to you. I need you help. Protect her, I beg you."

Draco pulled away from the table, taken aback with what he had just heard, by the way Zabini was looking at him. He couldn't look back, couldn't bear to see the desperation written in the other man's eyes. He wasn't sure if he ought to feel pity or disgust.

He refused to let himself believe the truth; he understood Zabini's feelings, and that was truly frightening.

Beyond the windows, all had gone dark, and London was now illuminated by streetlamps. Somewhere out there, a baby slept, away from her mother and father. In the blasted alienage, Lavender Brown was caged, nursing a broken, betrayed heart, all because the man she had loved was too cowardly to stand up for what he wanted.

_We can't. We can't, even if we wanted to. She's a Mudblood._

Draco wondered if he was even thinking about Lavender now, for a pair of bewitching ochre eyes were imprinted on his conscience. Swallowing, he willed himself be calm.

_I'm not as stupid as Zabini. I'm not stupid enough to fall for someone I can't have. I'm married, for Merl__in's sake! I might not love Astoria, but I have her, and by Gods I'm going to hold onto her because I can't face what this man is facing. I might be even more cowardly than he is._

It was a strange thought, and it didn't sit well with Draco, mostly because it was true. Zabini's voice broke into Draco's thoughts once more.

"I was good with those damned charms, mate, but I wish I had given her something else."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked warily.

"They're helpless, you know. I shouldn't care, right?"

He scoffed, but the sound was a sad one.

"That's what they all tell me. I ought not to care, but I wish I had taken the time to teach her something so she could protect herself. She's…so alone, Malfoy. Alone, and without a wand."

The silence was heavy.

"There isn't anything," Draco realized darkly. "What's a wizard or witch without a wand? What can you do? What can any of us do?"

Zabini looked up, his eyes glowing a moment in the dim lighting of the room around them.

"You can help watch over her. I swear, if you do it, and you don't say anything to any of them, I'll get Lily Potter out of this forsaken city. I _promise._"

The two men stared at one another, and then Draco reached out, clasping his hand in Zabini's, as a gesture of silent agreement.

Neither said anything else; words were not always necessary.

* * *

><p>Hermione stood over the tiny cot, her hands clasped together, Ginny behind her, as they checked on the woman asleep in the near darkness.<p>

Lavender Brown had cried herself into a troubled sleep. Hermione watched her old classmate in the near darkness, pity singing a mournful song in her heart.

At least, Lavender could get a reprieve from her pain this way, in sleep.

Hermione prayed that it was dreamless, for she knew the nightmares she suffered with and didn't want anyone else to feel the way she often did, late at night.

In the dim lighting, Lavender's tear-streaked face was calm, and her breathing even. One of her hands was wrapped around her middle protectively, grimy fingers clasping at something that wasn't there, a baby that she had nurtured for months, too quickly torn from her. Her face was turned to the wall, golden curls fanned across a worn and gray pillow. Her other hand had dropped from the cot, fingers still clutching a small, white and black handkerchief.

Ginny leaned down to pick it up, biting her lip when she read the stitching. Pity in her eyes, she handed it to Hermione.

The scrap of material was white, and made of fine silk, and in black lettering a name was stitched.

_B. Zabini._

Tears filled Hermione's eyes, blurring Lavender's sleeping form from view, and she held back a strangled sound. Her heart hitched as she watched Lavender in sleep, realizing that in the game they were all playing, there were losers and winners. You took a gamble, not knowing the outcome. You had no real choice whether to hope or not, to trust or not. You did, or you did not. And then, you prayed that you survived. Some did, and some didn't. You gave your all, you gave your life, your dignity, your dreams, and your future. In some cases, you lost it all.

_Will this be me? _

Bringing her hands up to her mouth, to hold back the bout of tears that she felt coming, Hermione turned away from the sight of what Lavender was now, trying to forget what she had at one time been.

She spent the rest of the night alone, sitting on the steps of the sleeping quarters, staring out at the empty courtyard without seeing anything at all. Hermione didn't know when the pain and the fear would stop. She wondered if it ever would, and if she could ever be strong enough to face a future that was full of other Lavenders, other Blaises. Could she be strong enough to face what her former friends, those reminders of a happier life, had become?

Sighing, she dropped her head and offered silent tears, the horizon slowly turning from a deep navy to the pale blues of coming sunrise. Autumn was upon them now, and just like the darkening world around her, the darkness of night held on longer, the sun rising later each morning now. Hermione shivered in the thin clothes she wore as she heard faint stirrings behind her from all the others.

She could see the faint outline of the tree line beyond the alienage that was her prison, and Hermione knew, no matter what had happened to Lavender, that she had taken the same gamble, and at least now, she had to cling to the hope that it would be different for her.

She feared if she didn't, the darkness would swallow her completely. As the sun rose, Hermione did as well, to face a new, uncertain day.


	19. Chapter 19

_I know there was a Dramione drought.__ You guys were amazing though, letting me develop the other side of my story, and so, for your reading pleasure, I present…more flowery depictions of a sexual nature between Draco and Hermione. (That's a warning) Plus, he gets her a present! An internet cookie to the first person who can guess how Draco plans on taking Hermione to Bellatrix's party without anyone knowing! (Should be easy, guys!)_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER NINETEEN<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione heard the door slam shut shortly after she had served the Malfoys their lunch. The house grew silent, and the scent of Astoria's musky perfume faded in the still air. Malfoy was gone, having retreated out of the dining room, his footsteps moving down the stairs and out of earshot.<p>

She began to wipe the table, clearing the dishes in a mechanical sort of way, trying not to think about what she had heard and seen the night before. She tried to erase the image of Lavender Brown, desperate and alone, from her mind. It was the last thing she wanted to think about, for it scared her, made her wonder if she would meet the same fate. But, it wasn't like she had much choice, really.

Lavender had not spoken all that morning, staring off into nothingness as the others around her whispered and shot her looks of pity and disgust. Either she was a good actress, or perhaps, she no longer gave a damn, but she had ignored them completely. In the light of the morning, her bruise had been a horrible purple-black thing that mottled the loveliness hidden beneath it. But still, she was lovely, just as she always had been. Try as they might, neither Ginny, Hermione nor Justin was able to get anything more out of Lavender.

Hermione had wanted to stay behind at the alienage that day, had nearly asked Malfoy if she could, but in the end, she had remained silent. And wondered at the strange, faraway look in his eyes when he had spied Lavender curled up on the cot at the far end of the large room.

_Why had he looked at her like that?_

Sighing, Hermione's hands disappeared into the soapy, warm water, as she began the wash, closing her eyes against her troublesome barrage of thoughts. She was somehow glad for Malfoy's footsteps, when she heard him behind her in the massive kitchen.

"Granger."

This too, was becoming somewhat of a comfort to Hermione; she liked the way he said her name. She turned slowly, swallowing back a sharp reply, and gazed up at him for a moment. The blue shirt he wore was a welcome change from the blasted uniform she would forever associate with all evil in the world.

_He is evil. I must never forget that._

Hermione steeled herself from her own confusing thoughts as she watched him sit down at the large table by the windows facing the garden below them. He didn't look at her as he spoke.

"My aunt and uncle are celebrating their wedding anniversary this evening. There is a party, and I want you to come with me."

She nearly dropped the dish she had been wiping, her heart rattling to a dead stop for a breathless moment. Hermione knew of which couple he spoke; she would never forget Bellatrix Lestrange, after all. Keeping her emotions in check proved much more difficult than she had thought it would, and the cracking of her voice gave it away.

"Oh, _is_ that what you want? Who would you introduce me as? Your Mudblood mistress?"

She realized too late, the tone of her voice, the way she had spoken those words, and they were not lost on Malfoy, for his face took on a strange, twisted look. He snorted, still staring out at the garden, and Hermione turned away, her breath catching.

"You'd be surprised, Granger, how many of _your kind_ will be there."

This, he said in disdain.

"Many of the Ministry officials use Mudbloods in that way, you know. Dressing them up, and showing them off, using them and then casting them aside when they're finished. It's all quite hush. It happens, but no one talks about it."

In his mind's eye he saw Blaise, downcast and terrified, and though of Lavender Brown, and the miserable way she had looked that morning. But he kept that all hidden. His words were casual, with a hint of coolness, and he propped his feet up then on the chair next to him.

Hermione bristled, finding herself grow angry in spite of attempts to not care. After years of such treatment, she thought she should have been used to it, but-

"Seems funny, doesn't it? Why any of your kind would want to sully themselves by even being in the same room with _Mudbloods? _I'll never figure it out!"

Her strained tone was meant to mock and deride him, and there was nothing Hermione could do to keep the words from escaping, even as he snorted in response.

"Once again, need I remind you that your life would be much easier if you learned to muzzle that nasty trap of yours? And when we get there, you won't say a word, do you understand? No nasty, misplaced comments, no underhanded insults. You'll play the woman I want you to play."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and horror as she spun to look up into his face, seeing his lip curled up in annoyance, his eyes challenging her to respond. Swallowing, she shook her head in confusion.

"Oh, will I? Your family knows who I am," she ground out, her voice tinged with something akin to humiliation. "They'll recognize me, Malfoy. I don't know how you think-"

He cut her off, by pushing her out of the way. She wondered at his mood. Gentle one second, angry the next. It was strange.

"You ask too many bloody questions."

She followed him, her eyes puzzled, as he moved into the hallway and then up the stairs to his room. She nearly blushed at the memories, and stopped in the doorway when he picked up a huge white box, and turned to face her.

"Here."

She took it, her brown eyes gazing up at him instead of his offering.

"Where is this party?"

She found herself curious as to why he even wanted her to go. After all, the arrangement was not required to extend outside of his bedroom, and-

"London," he replied. "We'll stay there overnight."

The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and she remembered once again why she was with him. What it was he wanted from her, even if he hadn't touched her since…that first time.

_It's going to happen._

Her mouth was dry as she spoke.

"How do you know I won't try and escape?"

Hermione found herself surprised that she had even asked such a pointless question; she would never leave knowing that Ginny and Lily weren't safe. But her eyes shone with the challenge she had posed him. It was strange, she realized, to see a near half smile on his face, as he rolled his eyes.

"You, I doubt. Maybe someone else, anyone else, but you? What with your savoir complex? There's still Lily to consider, isn't there?"

Those words were spoken with an infuriating smugness. She wouldn't leave, and he knew it. His eyes had flickered towards the windows, as if to signal that he was bored with her, the expression on his face maddeningly unreadable.

"Aren't you going to have a look?" he questioned tersely.

He glowered at her, his eyes darkening with reproach as he nodded towards the box.

Hermione found herself afraid for a moment, just as she had that night in the flat, when they had first spoken. He was a man who harbored an unspoken darkness, and she didn't want to find out what secrets it hid.

At least, that's what Hermione told herself.

Moving to the vanity, she set the box on top and lifted the lid, staring at what lay within, unable to speak.

_Merlin's beard…_

Hermione was pretty certain that she had never, in all her life, seen a dress as lovely as the one that lay nestled within the box. Though not one with a key eye for fashion, for there had always been matters of more importance, even she could not help but run her fingers along the crimson fabric. She thought it might be silk or satin – a cool, smooth whisper against her fingers. A rush of emotion pooled behind Hermione's wide eyes, as she realized it had been years since she had worn a dress, and even longer since she had worn a dress this breathtaking.

"Well, it's not like you can bloody see it in the box, can you?"

His impatient grumble startled Hermione out of her daydream, and she watched, a bit distracted, as he removed the dress, and tossed the box aside thoughtlessly.

If she hadn't been certain before, she was indeed convinced now, that Draco Malfoy was holding the most exquisite piece of evening attire she had ever seen. She nearly reached to snatch it from him, for she hadn't seen beauty in a long time, and she was afraid he'd take it from her too soon. It was knee length, and flowing. A simple thing, really, with a plunging neckline, a gathered waist and a dusting of beaded embroidery that seemed to shimmer under the lights in the room. Hermione wasn't even truly aware that her mouth had fallen open as she gazed on the vision of loveliness before her.

"Where…did you get it?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Does it matter, Granger? Are you supposing it's not good enough for a woman in your position?"

She tore her eyes away from the dress to glare at him.

"So then, I imagine you expect a lot from me, giving me a dress like that," she pointed out, feeling suddenly nervous at the thought of what he would…what he already…

His words were rough.

"The expectation was all yours, now wasn't it? I wasn't the one that came up with the arrangement. You threw yourself at me, not the other way around."

Hermione's face flushed with indignation.

"I had no choice!"

She found herself slightly surprised at the almost hurt expression that flickered across his face for only a moment before it was replaced by the more familiar scowl that adorned his face most of the time. Her eyes slid back to the fantastic dress he was still holding, waffling between embarrassment at the fact that he was right, and anger at being given no choice.

Malfoy chose to ignore her outburst, instead offering her the dress.

"Put it on."

"N-now?"

"No, Granger. Tomorrow."

His tone was colored with sarcasm.

"Go on. You said you'd do anything, didn't you? I _want_ you to put it on."

Hermione nearly blushed at the intensity with which he had captured her eyes, and, fingers trembling, she tore the satin from his fingers, and glared at him.

"Well, won't you turn around?"

Her words faded at the sight of something she hadn't seen before; his lips flickered for a moment and then turned up into a smirk.

"It's not like I'm _not_ going to bloody see it all eventually, eh Granger?"

He raised one eyebrow above silver eyes that glimmered with mirth. It seemed surreal to Hermione, this man whom she hated was gazing on her like she was almost….almost what? Frowning and hating herself for even considering him anything but hateful, she quickly shrugged off her clothing in favor of the beautiful dress. In the storybooks she remembered as a child, the heroine of the story always got to wear a beautiful ball gown, and it never failed that it was a perfect fit in every way.

Unfortunately, she was well aware that her life was no storybook, and in the most irritatingly predictable fashion, the dress was too big. Hermione clutched the satiny fabric to her chest, turning around to stare at him, a blush coloring her cheeks. She was unable to look him in the eye, feeling too…exposed for her liking, no matter what he had said, no matter what the situation between them was.

"It's not…quite right, Malfoy."

"No?" he drawled thoughtfully, his eyes moving up and down her body in the too-large dress. "I think it's rather fetching myself."

Hermione heard him mutter something under his breath, and then a flickering motion around her, as the dress changed and shrunk to fit her form.

"There. You can drop your arms now," he commanded in the same, soft tone he had used with her all afternoon.

It was unnerving, Hermione decided, as her eyes slowly met his. She lowered her arms, wondering what he was thinking, what lay beyond those slate-gray eyes that made her feel like he could see _inside_ her, and not just what lay on the outside, now swathed in a glorious dress of crimson satin. She suddenly realized that she had to think about something – anything else.

"How-how did you do that?"

His upper lip twitched, as if he meant to smile but couldn't quite do it.

"Technically, Granger, it's a modification of the knitting charm. You weren't the only one who knew charms in our year, you know. Though I'm certain you thought me daft."

Her eyes widened.

"Of course I didn't!" she exclaimed defensively. "I just…it's just so…perfect."

Indeed, it was, he realized. As was the blush that had so liberally colored her cheeks.

"Fetching," he whispered his agreement, swallowing and then turning away from her, his back stiffening as he uttered that one word.

The woman in the crimson dress stood watching him, her face a mask of confusion, her breathing coming more shallowly.

"Is it not…what-"

Draco had known the dress would be perfect, though he hadn't been quite certain of its size. But with a quick charm, making it fit hadn't been a problem. The problem was that she looked…

She looked a thousand words for beautiful, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he wasn't allowed to want her. It wasn't fair that she was a Mudblood. It wasn't fair that she had to look so damn good, even with her hair all pulled up in a messy ponytail, even though she was plainer than any other girl he had ever known, even though…

There were too many things going on in his mind, and none of them made sense to Draco at all.

"It looks fine, Granger. As I knew it would."

It was a gross understatement, and he tried to hide his reaction with haughtiness, hoping she didn't know how little control he truly had when it came to her.

_Fuck. Knock me over with a phoenix feather._

When he turned, she wore a look of bewilderment, with a measure of curiosity. He watched as she worried her lower lip between her teeth, contemplating him with those damned expressive eyes. Sod it all.

"If…if everything is fine, then why haven't you…?"

The words were uncertain, broken by her strangely bashful pauses, and her face bloomed with color. Draco found himself appalled once again by her wanton display of desperation.

"Why haven't I fucked you, you mean?"

She reddened even more furiously at his crass language, averting her eyes, with their glimmer of unshed tears, abruptly.

Draco stared at her then, trying to think of something to say, wondering if desperation made every woman act the way Granger was acting. Truthfully, he was uncertain as to why he wasn't able to use her, the way Flint used women. Surely, it was what Granger expected, for each time he touched her, her body responded by tensing, and her face was a mask of anticipation laced with fear and disgust.

_She doesn't want me._

He couldn't lie to himself, and the other hard truth was that he wanted her to want him. Even though it shouldn't have mattered, it was still what he desired.

"You don't think I want you, Granger?"

Draco felt the words bubble up from some obviously mental part of him, because there was no other reason for the way his voice broke, the clear unrest he felt.

"I've stuck my bloody neck out for you more than once, I saved your stupid best friend's children, and I've saved your arse more times than I can count! And you're worried that I don't want you?"

Hermione's head snapped up at the strange tone in his words and was shocked at the pain written in his eyes. She found herself studying him in silence, wishing he was uncomplicated, like other men, those being animals with nothing more on their minds but sex. This was much for difficult for Hermione, for he stirred within her feelings she didn't want to be having, and each time he spoke, each word, each time he did something she didn't expect, she felt herself sitting closer and closer to the edge of a deep crevice. If she fell…

_Its madness.__ I won't._

She found herself wanting to know Malfoy, this man, whom she found so abhorrent and yet so captivating. In spite of herself, and perhaps, to spite all those others who thought she was disgusting and not good enough for him. She wanted to make sense of the darkness within him, those parts of him that she feared. She wanted to make sense of everything in her life that was as hateful as he was.

_No. No, I won't._

As she stared at him, his hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the side of her face, touching he with more tenderness than anyone ever had. She let him pull her closer. She let that hand, which stirred rapture within her, run down her arm, let those fingers lace with hers, let his lips brush against hers in a whisper light caress that left her dizzy as her eyes fluttered closed. Her mind told her that it was wrong, but her body was the shadowed traitor, telling her mind that it didn't matter, that it was nothing more than an arrangement…

She felt herself being pulled more tightly against his chest, a wide, firm chest that Hermione hadn't realized felt more like steel than flesh.

In Malfoy's arms, she felt small, helpless. And yet, there was something unquestionably sublime about the way he held her.

"How is it I should show you how much I desire you?"

The whisper sent an explosion of electricity down her spine, rendering her speechless, as his lips pressed against the most intimate hollow of her throat, his tongue forging a hot, wet trail down her neck to her collarbone, gently at first and then with insistence, biting and suckling there, causing Hermione to go weak in the knees. The sensation of pain and pleasure caused her body to melt. Somehow, his hands were around her waist, and she was pressed against the hard planes of his body once more, barely able to breathe.

_Now? Now, will it happen?_

She was torn between curiosity and dread, as her eyes opened to take in the heated glint of the gray eyes that bore into hers with blatant desire, his lips trembling, and his face beautifully florid.

_Beautifully…_

She had wondered if he would touch her again, the same way he had touched her the first time, and her body responded by a delicious tightening in her lower half. Her eyes never left his.

"I've thought of nothing but this," he muttered raggedly, groaning when her body wiggled against his in the most innocent way. "Obsessed over nothing but your mouth, the way I had kissed you," he continued his lips against hers, the side of her mouth, his own hot, burning against the skin there. "Fantasies about the way you had reacted, the fact that you make the most bewitching noises I have ever heard a woman make."

The hiss of his words made Hermione groan and cling to him.

"But do you know what I wanted the most?"

Those eyes. Glowing embers of desire that burned like enchanted candles. She couldn't reply, only gazing up at him, dumbfounded.

"I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me the way you would have kissed a man you desired."

Hermione seemed to come out of her passion-laced stupor. At a loss for what to think or do, she took in the angular lines of his darkly handsome face, the careless way his blond hair fell into his granite eyes, now shadowed even more with his need, the tremble of his swollen mouth. He was watching her plaintively, his jaw stiffened, his body hot against hers. And she found herself tentatively leaning in, and pressing her mouth against his.

At her touch, a groan was ripped from his throat, and immediately he took full control of the kiss, forgetting his initial passionate plea. Immediately, his tongue sought hers in an erotic dance that left Hermione breathless. She felt him devouring her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, nipping, biting, caressing, possessing. His mouth was hot, wet and demanding, the kiss a rough violation of everything she had wanted to believe, and yet at the same time, it was the most delicious temptation.

His roughened hands moved up and down along heated satin, his mouth now burning kisses on her bare shoulders, her neck, her chin, her cheeks, and then her wanton mouth once more, groaning as she kissed him deeply and then deeper still. He delighted in the softness of her hair, the way she submitted to him now, willingly. He got lost in her because she made it hard to think, to consider what was truly happening, and in her arms he didn't have to think about who she was. He traced the line of her hip, her rib cage, her breasts, and then back down to the place where satin met thigh, and he pushed without care, like a glutton for more, more than she had given him before, because he wanted to be as close to her as he could be, closer than skin, closer than-

She let out a sound that was in between a cry and a moan and it twisted everything inside of him.

"Gods, the noises you make could drive a man to his insanity."

The words were ragged and breathless as he pressed his forehead against the heat of her cheek, breathing in the musky scent of her. Once more she whimpered, and he moved against her in reply, his muddled brain knowing nothing more than want…want…

He wanted to rip that dress off of her, to take her there, like she was some kind of-

No. No, not like that.

Breathing heavily, and confused at his sudden bout of conscience, Draco moved away from her, working with trembling fingers to re-button the white shirt she had nearly torn apart with her eagerness. His face flushed and his body in agony, he turned away from her to gather the train of thoughts that had violently derailed at the touch of her lips against his.

_Bloody arse._

She spoke.

"So that's it?"

Her voice was icy, much like that of the Granger he remembered at Hogwarts, and when he looked up, she was watching him, her face radiantly flushed and her hair a God awful yet glorious mess around her shoulders.

He sneered.

"What, Granger? Do I not perform up to your Weasley standards?"

Her cheeks stained red with indignation.

"I never- you don't- I wouldn't- I just-"

She swallowed hard.

"D-don't men want more?"

He let out a chortle at her obvious display of demureness. As if she was embarrassed at her words.

"Your modesty is quite misplaced in such a situation, is it not, Granger? After all, there you stand, half naked, offering yourself to me. You are mine. Remember? What I do with you is up to me. If I did not want you, you wouldn't be here."

He finished dressing, adjusting the shirt and tucking it into his trousers, and then he reached up to brush a rogue curl out of her face with the gentlest of touches. Hermione's heart lurched, and she wondered once more what he was doing to her. Why he wouldn't just finish what they had started, why he had to act like there was something more between them! It wasn't fair!

His lips were against her forehead in a sweet gesture of-

_Sweet? He's not sweet! He's hateful, he's evil, he's…_

"Who are you?" she whispered, feeling tears of confusion filling her eyes.

When he gazed on her, his eyes were cold once more.

"I am Draco Malfoy. A servant to our Lord, Voldemort. A Death Eater."

Hermione's heart began to weep at his words, knowing they were true.

"I know."

"Then, you won't forget," he replied. "You must never forget who I am, and who you are. Now…do something about your hair, Granger. We have a party to attend and I don't relish being late."

She closed her eyes against the burning tears, and waited until the door slammed, and she was left alone once more. His words echoed in her mind.

_I won't forget who you are, Draco Malfoy. I won't. That's a promise._

But deep down, she knew that his answer had not been enough, and that she did not know anymore who he was.


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you to all the ne__w reviewers – muah. You were all right - Draco IS going to use Polyjuice. I want to thank the reviewer who mentioned cklls – and having a similar writing style. It's a high compliment because she is fantastic. If you haven't checked out her stuff, you should (and some of you have because I got so many lovely recs from my reviewers, and she was one of several). I've read some of her stuff at H&V and she is glorious. Her stuff is on my to-read list (that's if I get a chance to read, which doesn't happen when my muse is in high gear). Speaking of reading, allow me to make a recommendation. If you haven't read __**The Fool, the Emperor and the Hanged Man**__, do yourself a favor. It is one of the best continuations of Deathly Hallows I have ever read and my no contest favorite Dramione fan fiction. Heck, it's probably my favorite fan fiction of all time. She's not published here, so just search the story or PM me. __ I only wish I had the author's talent. I can't say enough – even writing about it makes me smile. The author is epic and I aspire to her greatness – sadly it's her only fan fiction that I know of. Ok, I'm done now! And here we go!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY<p>

* * *

><p>Draco stared down at the sludge of a potion for a moment, contemplating what he was doing and why. It wasn't like the idea of Granger going with him to the Lestrange's party had been a half-assed one; he had been considering it for weeks now. But bringing Granger to a party with Ministry presence? With Pansy and Bellatrix in attendance?<p>

_I'd have to be mental._

Perhaps he was. He pinched a single black strand of hair from Astoria's brush over the potion, hesitating for a moment.

_Why not just force Astoria to go?_

He didn't want to. It was a simple as that. He wanted Granger. Perhaps not forever, and perhaps for his own selfish and rather…lascivious reasons, but still, he wanted her. He tried not to think about Blaise and what he had been through because of his misplaced feelings for a Mudblood.

_I won't be that way. As soon as he can get Lily out of London, I'm done with Granger. I'll just…I'll just…_

Just what?

Disgruntled and at a loss of what to even think, Draco dropped the hair into the potion and watched with some interest as it swirled, cleared, and then clouded over until it turned a milky color with a pearlescent sheen. The potion was as lovely to look at as was Astoria.

Moving quickly, he poured it off into smaller vials, counting out enough to slip into his dress robe pockets to get him through several hours' time. He did not plan on staying long, and the less time, the better, he figured. Draco finished and cleaned up all signs of what he had been doing, and then moved into the hallway, lifting his head upwards. Where was she?

"GRANGER!"

* * *

><p>Hermione stared at herself in the mirror critically. Her fingers, trembling slightly, pinned up unruly, stubborn waves of hair for the thousandth time. It was starting to irritate her that she couldn't control her own blasted hair. Malfoy had supplied her with another bottle of Sleekeasy's and all the pins she needed, and yet, her hair still looked like a half inhabited bird's nest.<p>

_Well, this is just brilliant, isn't it? I'm an adult who can't do her own hair!_

In spite of the gorgeous dress and shoes, the image staring back at Hermione in the mirror looked tired and plain. And nervous – especially nervous.

_Is he mental? Am I? This party is going to be overrun with Death Eaters, and here I am, Mudblood Granger. This is going to be a bloody disaster! Why am I doing this? _

She turned just in time to see the reason for her insanity walk into the room. Hermione couldn't speak, forgetting momentarily about her hopeless hair.

_He looks…_

Hermione found herself surprised, and she realized for a second that she was staring, a foreign feeling swirling within her, making the room feel warm.

_Well, it isn't like I ever found him hideous, it's just that…_

He wore a dark grey, fitted suit. She was sure that it had been tailored just for him, for it fit perfectly, glorifying everything masculine about him, from the lean waist to the broad shoulders. The color seemed to illuminate his silver eyes, and his hair fell across his forehead in boyish carelessness, though Hermione wondered how long it had taken him to get it to look that way.

_Stupid Malfoy._

He walked towards her with a quiet confidence, his lips turning up at the corners with a smirk, and Hermione wasn't sure she liked the warm, rushing feeling in her belly that was caused by his presence.

"Like what you see, Granger?" he purred, raising one eyebrow.

Flustered, Hermione looked away, trying to pretend she hadn't been staring. She hated him when he got so cocky.

"In your dreams," she replied. "You startled me, that's all."

"What's taking you so long? You've been up here for hours."

"I've been doing my hair."

"Forgive me for saying this, but it sure doesn't look it."

She turned pink, glaring at him in the mirror.

"Get out! I'm trying my best, Malfoy!"

Then she turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"This wasn't part of the arrangement, you know," she ground out accusingly. "I'm not supposed to be traipsing through London with you! This is bloody mental! Everyone is going to know I don't belong! Not only because I'm Hermione Granger, but because…well, look at me! I've no makeup, no jewelry, and the only thing I do have is yours! This dress, is…it's just…it's just like putting plain Jane into Cinderella's ball gown."

Frowning, she sat down at Astoria's vanity, staring at herself glumly. She picked up another pin that was sitting in front of her, and scowling, she finally moved to pin everything to the top of her head, the result being a mess of hairpins and flyaway curls.

Her eyes met Malfoy's in the mirror and he was wearing an infuriating smirk that made him more handsome, although that should have been impossible.

"The arrangement, as you so call it, was simply that you are mine. And I do with you as I wish. And I wish you could do your hair more quickly, although that can't be helped, can it?"

Hermione stood up, her hands down at her sides in fists.

"I really despise you sometimes, Malfoy."

Her eyes flashed hatefully and it elicited another smirk from him.

"Really, do you? Even though I've the solution to all your problems?" he said removing a vial from his robe pocket.

Hermione stared at it curiously, and then took it from him after he unstoppered it. It was a beautiful, pearly color and the scent was familiar.

"Wait," she gasped in horror, her eyes moving to his. "Is this Polyjuice?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Chalk one up for the brightest witch of our age," he drawled. "You won't have to worry about what you look like tonight, because you'll look like my wife in a crimson dress. Problem solved. Astoria is not here tonight, and I'm certainly not going to a family party without her. How people would talk."

Hermione stared at the little vial without saying anything, and not hearing the sarcasm in his voice. True, she was irritated with him for his constant snide comments, and she loathed him because of who he was, but she couldn't deny the fact that there was a side to him that she…well, perhaps she didn't enjoy, but she did…want to understand. And now, well, it was disappointing to Hermione that the dress hadn't been anything more than just something his wife would have worn. It wasn't Hermione that Malfoy wanted to spend the evening with, she was simply a stand in for Astoria.

_Good, it's good. I must never forget who I am, and who he is._

She looked up at him skeptically.

"Still, this won't work, Malfoy. I have experience with Polyjuice. I…-"

She wasn't sure how much to tell him about transforming into Bellatrix Lestrange and the whole, gruesome experience at Gringott's, but in the end, she chose to stay silent about that.

"I don't know your wife! I don't know the first thing to say, or not to say! No one will buy it, and then what happens if someone finds out who I am?"

She watched as his lips twitched slightly.

"I do find you amusing when you're flustered, Granger. Why don't you leave all the details to me?"

"Because, you're not the one who has to spend the evening pretending to be your wife!"

"All you have to do is stay by my side and smile. Do you really think I married her for her intelligence, Granger?"

Hermione stopped, frowning. She truthfully had never considered Malfoy and Astoria's marriage. She wondered now if maybe it had simply been an arrangement of convenience. After all, it was like that in many pureblood families that she remembered hearing from others at school and reading about in the newspapers over the years. Hadn't it been that way between Malfoy's parents?

She spoke with trepidation.

"It's a party for your family, what if they…expect me to…know people, to talk to them?"

He stared at her, nonplussed.

"Then, you talk to them, Granger."

"And what if you leave me alone with them?"

She put her hands on her hips, staring at him haughtily, although beneath that veneer, she looked positively green with fear.

He shook his head.

"Granger, did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much? Now, drink it."

Hermione was flustered at his nonchalance, but realized she had very little choice and so, holding her breath, she closed her eyes, tipped back the contents of the vial, and swallowed.

Draco watched with fascination as the piles of caramel hair atop her head shifted, morphed, began to lengthen and darken. Her skin paled, grew translucent and porcelain-like and before his eyes she grew inches, and her legs and arms lengthened until she only stood an inch shorter than he. And those eyes, Granger's eyes, that haunted him so, became the dark color that he had long associated with his wife. The dress, which he had charmed to adjust to the wearer, fit like a glove.

Draco realized that he liked the crimson gown better on Granger. It was a realization that made his body twist deliciously.

For all intensive purposes, Astoria Greengrass stood before him now, her beautiful face turned up towards his with anticipation and curiosity. In fact, the face that looked back at him, although familiar, was equally as strange, for Draco had long gotten used to seeing his wife only in two ways – angry or indifferent. This woman that stood before him looked like his wife, but he knew instantly that it wasn't. There was something about her eyes, something that the potion could not change. Her eyes were still Granger's.

"Well, how about that," he marveled shaking his head, feeling a bit peaky. "We studied this in Potions, but Gods, you look…"

Just like Astoria, he knew. He felt…a bit let down. Disappointed. Trying to clear his mind of such thoughts, Draco reached into the pocket of his overcoat and then opened his palm, in which lay Astoria's gold and diamond wedding band.

"Put it on," he commanded gently, and although he saw Granger hesitating for a moment before she slipped the ring on her finger, staring at it as if it were a flobberworm and not an exquisite piece of jewelry, she said nothing.

"Remember, don't venture too far from me."

He heard her let out a snort.

"No chance of that, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected sternly as they left the massive house behind them and walked down the cement steps to the street. He felt her eyes boring into his. "If you're going to play my wife, you'll call me by my name."

"Fine."

She sniffed.

"There's no chance of that, _Draco._"

Hermione decided she liked the sound of his name. Though, she'd never tell him that.

* * *

><p>Hermione stopped in the doorway of the massive ballroom where the Lestrange's party was being held, her breath stopping for a moment. For years, she had seen nothing but death, pain, and the bleak side of life. She had forgotten what life could be like; she had forgotten that others around her were still enjoying the things she had long forgotten existed.<p>

She had been clinging to Draco from the moment they had left his home, and as he stepped into the semi-crowded room, she felt herself moving with him, although Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

All around her, men and women dressed in red and black walked around serving champagne in fluted glasses and appetizers on startling silver trays. Beyond that, tables were set for supper with linens, bone white china and shining silver cutlery. There were serving tables on either side of those, each covered with sweets and pastries that made Hermione's eyes water and her stomach lurch with delight.

_When was the last time I__ had a chocolate éclair?_

Not realizing how strange she looked, Hermione paused at the table piled high with every dessert creation she could imagine.

"Granger," hissed Malfoy against her ear, so only she could hear. "You'll make them stare. Astoria hates sweets, by the way."

Hermione nearly jumped at the voice that had invaded her thoughts, and she gave him a harsh glare, but allowed him to pull her along as she let out a sigh of longing and disappointment.

Although the ballroom was made to look like a classy dinner party gathering, she could see clear signs of magic throughout the room; the ceiling housing a plethora of light effects, which made the walls sparkle. The drink table seemed to refill itself at will, and she could see that for every treat that was taken from the dessert table, another would take its place. And there was the sound of music, but she could see no instrumentalists.

Hermione found it strange that the Lestranges, who were purported to hate Muggles and everything to do with them, would host their party at what was clearly a Muggle hotel, albeit one of the most beautiful ones Hermione had ever been at.

"How do they manage all this?" she asked the man at her side, wondering if Astoria would have even thought to ask. Probably not.

"Muggle-repelling charms, Granger. I don't think any of _them_ are even aware this room exists tonight."

Hermione nodded, her eyes still riveted on the sight before her, wondering how anyone could miss it. Only when she had taken her fill of her breathtaking surroundings, did she start to notice the other guests, and her stomach dropped in fear. She knew who was here, and how much they hated her-

_But you're not Hermione Granger tonight. Tonight, you are Astoria Malfoy. You are Draco's wife._

With that, she tightened her hold on him, trying to appear confident and as if she belonged in this place, and with this man.

_He couldn't have made it more difficult for me, could he? _

"There they are."

Hermione nearly groaned at those words, as they were the last three words she wanted to hear; the idea of spending any time at all with the Lestranges made her sick. Through the crowd she could see the focus of Draco's attentions - Bellatrix and Rodolphus sat at the central table, both wearing black from what Hermione could see. Neither looked like they were at a party, and the truth was, Bellatrix looked just as frightening as Hermione remembered her. She lost her footing for a moment, the memories of the past assaulting her so that she could barely take another step.

"Are you coming?"

His voice was tinged with irritation, and she could only hope that he would understand her sudden fear.

"I-I can't."

"Granger," he hissed, stepping back so that he was pressed against her.

Somehow, it felt right to Hermione. She didn't want to let him go. Her eyes turned up towards his with panic and supplication. His jaw clenched.

"If you don't come with me, my aunt is going to wonder what's wrong. I can't have that, see?"

"I-I…I need a moment, I just…I need a drink and a moment, and then…"

He tried to extricate himself from her tentacle-like grasp.

"Fine," he replied tersely, finally managing to loosen himself from her. "Have you drink and your moment. If you need me, I'll be with my family."

Hermione stared, helplessness washing over her, followed by a crashing wave of anger. How dare he? How dare he leave her alone in that room, knowing she had no clue who was who and how she was supposed to act? Standing in the center of the ballroom, watching the man she loathed with everything in her walk away from her, she took several breaths and gathered her wits. She would need those, after all.

_Astoria. I'm Astoria Malfoy, and I need to act as such!_

Hermione squared herself, forcing a smile and then reaching for a champagne flute, with one perfectly manicured hand. She walked as she had seen Astoria walk through the house so many times – with deliberate slowness and perfect grace. She nodded to those who happened to pass her by, forcing herself to remember who she was, and that the others probably knew it.

The wall next to the table of sweets was covered with mirrors, and it was in that moment Hermione realized the reality of the situation. The woman looking back at her was the one that she had learned to loathe since working at the Malfoy house. She had _known_ it, of course, since drinking the Polyjuice, but it was something altogether different to _see_ it. She was momentarily entranced with the woman reflected in the looking glass. She was both stunning and commanding. She was cold and yet expressive. The beauty on the outside housed a most loathsome soul. It was like that with everyone around her, Hermione realized with a sick, sticky feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She gazed down at herself, swathed the gorgeous crimson dress, feeling the weight of heavy, black hair that hung down her back in perfect array, and she glared at the amazingly beautiful wedding ring that adorned her finger, remembering only months ago, the gold band that had been there before.

_That was real love, that was from my husband. All of this is a mirage, it's a veneer of decency and a pretty picture that hides the rot of hatred and evil that lies below it. All of this isn't real. I can't believe that I'm even here…_

Her eyes filled over with tears for a moment, before Hermione remembered the role she was playing and knew that it would not do for Astoria Malfoy to be crying at a wedding celebration.

When she turned, Hermione scanned the room, which was starting to slowly fill with people, for Malfoy, who was still standing with his family. In spite of the fact that he was probably as unnerved as she was over the situation they had found themselves in, he managed to still hold it together. He was the picture of confidence, his face solemn, his mouth turned up with a touch of mirth, and his eyes a portrait of polite interest. He moved gracefully from person to person, and she could almost picture the eloquence with which he spoke.

That night, Draco Malfoy acted like the world revolved around him. Hermione found herself admitting that he certainly _looked_ the portrait of a man around whom the world _should_ revolve.

_Amazing. Impressive, and yet insufferably irritating. _

In this corner of the room it was much easier to slip the vial of Polyjuice Malfoy had given her earlier, and she quickly consumed it, before finishing her champagne, and making sure that no one had seen her actions. Luckily, she was invisible, or that's what it seemed like.

_I wonder if this is what Astoria feels like. I wonder if Bellatrix, or even any of these others, care about what__ he is doing, and whom Draco is with. _

As she stared curiously down at the wedding ring on her hand, Hermione pondered Malfoy's marriage once more. She wondered if he loved Astoria. She wondered if Astoria had been forced against her will into being with Malfoy, and if maybe there was someone else? In all the time she had spent at the house, cooking and cleaning for them, never had she heard a kind word, or a warm tone. Meals were eaten in silence, and if Malfoy gazed on Astoria at all, it was with nothing more than contempt. Their relationship was nothing like what she had shared with Ron. Or the sweetness and devotion of Ginny and Harry's short marriage. She remembered the way Remus had gazed on Tonks, and the way Molly's eyes would shine with unspoken adoration when Arthur would enter a room.

Hermione's heart began to race with the loss and pain that suddenly overwhelmed her at the thought of the people in her past, and she wondered if Malfoy had any of that.

Sighing as she gazed on the beautiful ring that was the symbol of his marriage, Hermione bit her lip.

_I hope he has that._

* * *

><p>It was unnerving.<p>

Each time Draco turned his head casually to check on what Granger was doing, her eyes would lock with his across the dim, sparkling room. She had not left the shadowy corner nearest the table layered with sweets. Though he wanted to murder her for her inconvenient sugar cravings, Draco knew to walk over to the table would mean drawing attention to her, and it was the last thing he wanted. He simply decided to hope that no one noticed Astoria's sudden propensity for desserts.

All in all, however, he had found the evening only mildly insufferable. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had not even spared Granger a moment's notice, and in fact, Bellatrix sniffed with disdain, having told him that it was preposterous that he even bring a wife who so clearly didn't want to be there.

_Perhaps she doesn't want to be here, but she sure isn't wasting any time on those treacle tarts,_ he thought, bemused, as he saw Granger finish her second treat.

Yes, so far things were far from horrid, he decided.

* * *

><p>Hermione had found solace in the numerous delights of the dessert table, and just as she licked the heavy, sweet cream from her thumb after having consumed an unnamed slice of pie that tasted like the heavens, she heard a voice that froze her blood.<p>

"Well, well, well…if it isn't the little wife!"

She whirled, mentally reminding herself over and over-

_I am Astoria Malfoy…I am Astoria Malfoy…I am Astoria Malfoy…_

Pansy Parkinson stood watching her, head tipped to side as if Hermione was a curiosity at a Muggle zoo.

"Fancy running into you here," she said sarcastically, offering a light laugh.

Hermione wondered if the woman on the arm of a familiar, albeit, hideous looking Ministry official, was the same woman from the alienage.

"Is it?"

Hermione forced the icy, contemptuous voice she had so often heard Astoria use when speaking with her, and anyone she found distasteful, she assumed.

"I am here with my husband."

Pansy's face blossomed pink, as if she were holding back a barrage of words she couldn't bring herself to say.

"Are you?"

The question was meant to mock, and Hermione didn't like the way Pansy was watching her – too closely, too suspiciously. She smirked then, tossing her thick, dark hair to the side as Pansy turned to her date with a sneer.

"Amazing isn't it, Marcus? Such a figure and yet she's quite the pig, isn't she?"

Hermione, who had reached for a lemon tart, startled at Pansy's words, her eyes widening.

"It is quite amazing," she replied haughtily. "I suppose not everyone has been as blessed."

She made sure to give Pansy a disdainful once-over, making the shorter woman red with anger.

Pansy snorted.

"I don't get the hype," she replied. "It's not like you're even that pretty. I suppose you have nice skin, but your nose is all wrong and that's quite a sizeable arse you're sporting."

Hermione looked down at herself, surprised that anyone would say such a thing, for she had believed Astoria to be perfect. In spite of the fact that she wasn't actually Astoria, Hermione bristled.

"Well, I think you're a bit blind then, aren't you?" she mocked.

Pansy laughed cruelly.

"Imagine that, the stupid little trophy wife's got herself an attitude tonight! And here I thought she didn't have two brain cells to rub together!"

Hermione grimaced internally.

_Oh, bloody hell. Now what? What if she starts to wonder why Astoria is acting strangely? Doe she not defend herself? Does she not speak at all? Oh, Damn Malfoy for putting in this position!_

Panicked, Hermione reached to finish her lemon tart, eating it with relish all the while, glaring at Pansy over the top of the dessert. She watched as Pansy leaned up to whisper something into her date – Marcus's – ear, and he smirked as she turned to glare at Hermione.

"So, where is your husband tonight then? Did he leave you all alone like he usually does? Merlin knows Draco has enough common sense. We're all still wondering why the hell he married you in the first place, Astoria. It's not like you've got anything going for you, is it? Just another pretty face, and everyone knows a pretty face can be replaced."

Hermione blinked. Is this what Astoria dealt with on a regular basis? Is this how she was treated? She wanted to lash out, to attack Pansy Parkinson for the nasty way she treated everyone around her, but she didn't know if she was _supposed_ to or not. Swallowing back a response, she finished her tart and then smirked.

"I don't really care what you think. After all, I'm wearing the ring, not you."

As she finished speaking, Hermione offered the most syrupy-sweet smile she could muster, hoping it would drive the conniving, nasty Pansy off the edge. With a smirk of satisfaction, she watched as Pansy turned red, and then white, reaching forward vehemently.

"You little bitch-"

It was Draco who yanked her back by her upper arm.

"Did you just call my wife a bitch, Parkinson?"

Both women jumped apart as Pansy stared up at Malfoy without bothering to hide her contempt. Hermione took that moment to smooth the satin folds of her skirt, and touch up her hair, in a fashion she likened to Astoria, who she had found was rather vain. She found that she was livid with Malfoy for leaving her alone in that room, with these people, in this body which was not technically hers – but at the same time, she found herself grateful for his last minute arrival.

"No, we were just having a chat, weren't we, Astoria?" Pansy ground out, raising one dark eyebrow.

Hermione sniffed in an overly wounded way.

"She told me I had a fat arse."

Though Malfoy's face never twitched, Hermione could see the veiled amusement behind his glare. His voice was as rich as velvet and as smooth as leather when he spoke.

"This chat is over. Have a good night, Parkinson."

There was no arguing with him when he used that tone of voice, Hermione knew. Pansy's mouth opened and closed a few times, reminding her of a fish, and then Malfoy motioned to her.

"Come, Astoria."

Hermione's eyes swiveled towards him, words of protestation shimmering on her lips. How dare he? How dare he address her like she was some sort of…animal? When she didn't move, he wrapped his hands around her upper arm in a firm grip, pulling her away from Pansy.

"Let me go," she hissed as he stepped out of the room with her at his side. Her eyes flashed hatefully as he smirked down at her.

"Feisty tonight, Granger? I find it rather amusing, actually."

She smacked him.

"How dare you run off and leave me hanging like that? After you promised to stay close?"

"Tsk tsk, I never said I'd stay close. I said for _you_ to stay close. You're the one who said you needed a drink and a moment."

He motioned towards the sweet laden table.

"And apparently two or six pastries," he finished with a smirk.

Hermione's face flushed a bright crimson.

"You insufferable little ferret!" she screeched.

As she glowered at him, he did something she didn't expect. He laughed, and everything else seemed to melt away. It was a strange sound, but not unpleasant. Soft and warm, like honey, bubbling up from deep within him, that set the depths of his grey eyes to dancing. It lasted only a few seconds, but not long enough.

"Come on, Granger. Just for tonight, can we forget who we are and just…"

He offered his hand. She glared at it as if were offensive.

"And do what?"

He cocked his head and gazed at her.

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me," he repeated, reaching now for her hand, to take it in his. "It's a party, and you're my wife, and no matter how cold our marriage is, we still ought to dance."

Before Hermione could move or jump away, to back off, she was in the circle of his arms, pressed up against his soft warmth. Shock rendered her immobile, and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up for a brief flicker of a smile.

"Don't you dance, Granger? You never _were_ one to have a good time, were you?"

Her cheeks blushed brilliantly.

"That's not true, Malfoy," she hissed.

Her touch hesitated along his shoulders, down his taut back, and along his waist, her fingers trembling slightly.

"It's just…this. This party, and being Astoria, and I'm just confused. You make me so confused," she muttered gazing up into his eyes.

He gazed into the dark depths of Astoria's wide gaze, but pictured Granger's eyes – brown warmth with flecks of the richest caramel. Gorgeous eyes, he realized. His fingers reached out, running along the planes of the familiar yet strange countenance of his wife, his heart hammering for a moment.

Neither noticed that the Polyjuice was wearing off, because he was lost to her, forgetting that it wasn't Granger he was supposed to be with. Her eyes followed the path of his tender hand as it ran along her face, and her eyes closed at his touch, and he neared her face.

_Kiss me._

He did not have to speak. His lips shaped the words upon hers, and she answered. They were lost in the moment, to everything but each other.


	21. Chapter 21

_Now, no one really thought it would be smooth sailing, did they?__ I did some research at the Lexicon, and it says that Seamus Finnigan is from Galway, Ireland. I haven't yet had the pleasure of visiting, but some of the phrasing in this chapter I got from my girlfriend who lives in Belfast, Ireland. Forgive me for any inaccuracies, as I am not, myself, Irish. I'm trying to keep Seamus' dialogue different than the others, so hopefully it's not too bad. In this installment, Dramione get caught by an unwitting Irishman, and Draco battles with his emotions. Warning – explicit adult content near the end. ;)_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY<em>-<em>ONE

* * *

><p>As she kissed him, Hermione made the irritating realization that Malfoy's all-consuming mouth had the uncanny ability to stop time. At least, time as far as she was concerned. This became startlingly real when a voice broke the two apart.<p>

"Sure, me eyes be deceivin' me!"

The exclamation was part laugh and part gasp, and Hermione turned quickly, still in the circle of Malfoy's arms, to see the sandy-haired young man standing nearest to them, his brown eyes wide.

"Hermione Granger, it is you! Thought I was going mental, I was!"

She tore away from Malfoy, her heart melting at the sight of another familiar face in her all too unfamiliar surroundings. She was too shocked to see him to pay mind to the fact that the Polyjuice had clearly worn off.

Seamus Finnigan was staring back at her, wearing the black and white of the serving staff, and holding an empty, silver serving platter. His eyes were wide with surprise, and a smile played on his mouth.

"Seamus!"

She gasped his name before they embraced, Hermione holding tightly, as if he had, at one time, been her dearest friend. Indeed, it wasn't hard to imagine how anyone with whom she had once exchanged even the simplest pleasantries could not be called a dear friend now.

Draco glared at the couple, looking around the small hallway, praying that no one else come out to see what was happening. The anxiety at getting caught and the irritation at Granger's obvious joy finally caused him to snap.

"Well, how about that? If it isn't one of Ireland's biggest berks," he drawled, eyes snapping.

"Go and shite, Malfoy!" Seamus replied tersely. "It's not much I be caring what ya think of me!"

Draco folded his arms across his chest tensely, giving him one last glare before turning towards Hermione.

"Here."

The word wasn't a suggestion as much as it was an order, and Hermione took the vial of pearly liquid, giving Seamus a helpless look.

"I can explain," she said, hesitating.

Seamus' eyes flickered from Hermione to the vial and back at Hermione, as he ignored Draco.

"It's this one that be forcing ya, Hermione? What are ya doing here and with him?"

Hermione felt a flood of shame wash over her, and it was strange, for she hadn't felt it for weeks now. Somehow, when she was alone with Malfoy what she had done, and what she had offered him in exchange for his help didn't much matter. Only when the real world crept in, did everything seem to change.

"I…

Draco watched as Granger clung to the vial, but she didn't move to drink it, in fact, not moving at all. He wasn't sure why just this one act of evasiveness angered him, but, he felt it rushing through his veins.

"Granger, why don't you answer him?" he suggested in mock-kindness, his lips turning up into a sneer. "Or, don't worry about it. I will."

His grey eyes locked with the Irishman's.

"She's mine. So, sod off, Finnigan."

"Aye, right," muttered Seamus, rolling his eyes. "Sure, I don't believe ya."

Draco smirked, cocking his head.

"Don't you? That's too bloody bad then, isn't it? She's mine. Ask her. Ask her where she's staying now. Ask her about how she's been offering herself to me for months."

Hermione's head fell, her face burning with humiliation. Her words stuck in her throat, and try as she might, she wasn't able to get anything sensible past her lips, afraid to look up at Seamus and see displeasure and shock coloring his features. At one time, he had been her friend, and she had already seen too much shock and horror on the faces of her dear friends to last her a lifetime.

_How dare he? How dare Malfoy__ make me look like a wanton whore?_

Tears blurred her vision, and she managed to choke out words.

"That's not how it was."

She heard Malfoy offer up a sarcastic chortle.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that's how it was, Granger. Now," he said and forced her to stand up straight. "Drink, before someone comes out here and blows our cover. I'll have you know, I paid a pretty pound for that sodding potion, and I don't want it going to waste!"

Hermione stared at Malfoy and then at Seamus, and she sighed. But, before she could do as Malfoy had requested, there was a commotion by the doorway.

In a flash, she felt Malfoy pushing her towards the door that led to the exit and she heard him cursing under his breath. She had only seconds to register her surprise at the sudden movement, and then she saw Seamus ducking into the hallway with her, pulling her down the cement staircase.

"This way!"

She followed, sparing only a look over her shoulder, wondering where Malfoy would go, and how she would find him again. Luckily, she was still clutching the small vial of pearl colored potion, which meant she had at least an hour to find him again. The option of escape never crossed her mind; were she to do that, Lily would be lost.

Seamus didn't stop until they had reached the bottom of the stairs, and breathing heavily, he lifted his face up towards the direction they had come.

"What's this all about, now, Hermione?"

She sank down onto the last cement step, wrapping her arms around herself as a shiver ran through her. She had no wrap, and the nights were growing cooler. As she sat, the cold from the cement seemed to seep into her bones.

"I'm so ashamed," she admitted, as she wiped away a stray tear from her eye. "It's not the way Malfoy said it is."

Seamus dropped down onto the step next to Hermione, offering his coat, which she took and wrapped around her bare shoulders with a grateful smile.

"Malfoy's word is blarney! It's not me who be believin' him."

Hermione took in a shaking breath, feeling a flood of warmth for the man who so easily trusted her word in a world where she had gotten used to her word meaning nothing.

"You're not gettin' off with him, are ya?"

Hermione closed her eyes.

"It's…it's complicated," she whispered. "He…he works for the Ministry. You've heard about the alienages?"

Seamus' face paled.

"Horrid places, sure. I read about them in _The Prophet_. Shoveling off the Muggle-borns like they be nothin' but trash."

Hermione sniffed and looked down at the dirty cemented ground.

"There's nothing for us anymore, Seamus. At least you…aren't stuck in that horrid prison. He's…he's the only one who has shown me any kindness."

She looked up at her old friend then, and saw the sadness and confusion in his eyes.

"Kindness, is it? This whole world be on its head, now, Hermione, when you be talkin' about Malfoy as kind."

His admission was followed by a heavy sigh as Seamus looked away from her, and then down at the ground.

"Did it all arseways, I did."

Hermione frowned.

"Did what?"

"They came for me Da, half a year ago. Me mum had a meltdown, and I should have stayed, but I didn't. Was scared, sure. The Dementors gave Da the Kiss, and sometimes, I still go see me mum, but it's harder and harder to leave England, now. I send money, but it doesn't seem enough, to be sure."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're doing what you can. That's all any of us can do."

Her soft reminder fell on silence, and they sat like that a few moments. Then, Seamus looked up.

"They thought you dead, sure."

"What?"

"Percy said it be so."

Hermione's heart stopped beating, and then started up in furiousness and joy.

"P-percy? You've…seen…the Weasleys? Oh, thank God, they're alive?"

Seamus looked around the small stairway, but there was no sign of anyone but them. Then he looked back at Hermione, his eyes somber.

"If I tell ya, be promisin' me you won't tell anyone else, now."

Hermione searched his face but couldn't muster a reply in her shock, and finally settled on a vehement nod, clasping his hand for a moment.

"They broke out of that prison, they did. Arthur and Percy. They are in the country now, along with Dean and some of the others."

Hermione's heart hammered with joy and fear.

"And George?" she whispered emphatically, her eyes wide.

"No one be knowin' his whereabouts, Hermione. Though they are looking, they are."

She sagged against Seamus for a few silent moments, her heart hammering wildly.

"H-how do you know this?"

He offered a small chuckle.

"I told ya. I stay in London, even though I should be in Galway, with me mum. But I stay here, because they be needing me. We all met up, you know, in the same situation we were. Some of us are pure-bloods, some of us are half-bloods, and there's the Muggle-borns, but it's hard for them. Twice they came for us, they did. Most of us got away, we did. Takes more than a Ministry bloke to stop us!"

Hermione pulled away in time to see Seamus' cheeky grin.

"You're…you're all together? You and the Weasleys? And some of the others?"

He smiled.

"That be so."

She felt tears rolling down her face.

"You have to help the boys, Harry's boys, Seamus. They sent them to that awful place, too."

Seamus squeezed Hermione's fingers for a moment and then gave her the best news she had gotten in months.

"Don't ya be worrying none. The wee ones be fine. Sweet things, they are. Sure, just like their Da."

Hermione had little emotion left, for being at the alienage and all the time spend with Malfoy drained her significantly, but still she could not help the sobs of joy as she buried her face in her hands and cried. She felt the comforting touch of her old friend, and leaned into him for a long while, until there were no more tears, and she was left with just a strange feeling of warmth and relief.

"The boys told me their Ma was with you. But that was months ago, it was. No one knew if you be alive or not. That's why I thought when I saw ya, it was just a dream, ya know."

Hermione smiled thinly.

"She's been with me the whole time. She and Lily."

"How be the little one?"

Hermione swallowed, averting her eyes. In her newfound, bittersweet joy, the thought of poor Lily still stuck with Pansy Parkinson angered her even more, but she didn't want to share more than she had to, and with Malfoy-

"She's fine," Hermione finally whispered. "At least she will be, as soon as they let her leave that place."

Her jaw was firmly set and then Seamus spoke, his voice dropping.

"Dean told me about Justin, ya know. We knew he was in London, but we were too late, you see. They got to him before we did, and he got caught."

Hermione nodded, pressing her lips together.

"He's fine, Seamus. His daughter…she's gone, but he's…"

Seamus sighed.

"Aye, now. No one be truly fine."

"I know."

Her whisper echoed and then quickly faded just as the distant sound of a door banging way above them echoed against the cement walls of the stairwell. Both Seamus and Hermione fell silent, staring up towards the staircase as it winded up each floor above them. But no one came down the steps, and there were no other sounds.

"You could come with us, ya know."

Hermione looked at Seamus, wide eyed. For a moment, she pictured a situation in which she would agree immediately and then be taken away from Malfoy and the horrid alienage. But then, in the next moment, reality seemed to crash down around her.

"I can't," she whispered to him. "Not if Lily and Ginny aren't with me. But, thank you. It means the world to me that you risk yourself the way you do."

Seamus nodded and then leaned in to whisper against Hermione's ear.

"Tell Justin that we're comin' for him. Next month, it be."

Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

"Won't that be dangerous?"

He sighed.

"Sure, there is danger in every war, Hermione. But someone has ta fight against Voldemort. Otherwise, we'll all be lost, we will."

She was silent, watching him, and he locked her eyes with his.

"You'll tell him?"

She nodded her promise.

"When we come, you be ready to go too, ya hear?"

Her refusal to answer his plea spoke volumes, and Hermione's eyes traveled the stairs down which they had come. All was silent.

"He can't be trusted. Evil, that one is."

Hermione's eyes filled with hot tears.

"I don't trust him. I don't even want him!"

Seamus sighed.

"Aye, I understand. Sometimes, what choice do we have?"

* * *

><p>Draco hadn't gone far when the tumult in the hotel hallway had begun. Shoving Granger and the Irish wanker down the stairwell had been easy and then pretending he had just had a major row with Astoria was convincing enough for his aunt. Pansy – well he figured she didn't believe him, but then again, she hardly believed much he said anyway. And he didn't rightly care anyhow. Once the two women were gone, he had slipped into the stairwell to go down after Granger. A part of him had been curious as to what Granger would do once away from him. Another part was afraid that she would, indeed, escape, even though that seemed too farfetched.<p>

At first, there had been nothing but silence. Then, he heard her voice echoing in the empty, cement enclosed space.

_I don't trust him. I don't__ even want him!_

The words had stopped him in his tracks, and as they faded away, all Draco could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

_Well, it's not like I didn't know that._

Her words, that reminder, however, did not sit well with him, even though Draco decided he wouldn't _care_. He forced himself to believe that, in spite of the strange ache in his heart.

She didn't want him. She didn't trust him.

_I__'m bloody fine with that, I am! Stupid Mudblood. Pretending like she's better than me. Listen to that! Shame in her voice, like she's done something wrong, when the entire time she's been throwing herself at me like some whore!_

His hands gripped the railing of the staircase so tightly, his knuckles whitened. A storm of white-hot rage washed over him, nearly causing Draco to tremble.

_I loathe her! What a stupid, worthless little bitch! How dare she not feel an ounce of gratefulness for everything I've done? I've stuck my bloody neck out for her! I've protected her! I've promised to help that stupid little __Potter offspring and for what? She dares disrespect me? She dares bad-mouth me to the first sodding, self-righteous Gryffindor bastard that comes along?_

Draco was hardly in any state to contemplate his growing, irrational thoughts. He refused to acknowledge the real source of his anger, but the infuriating voice in his mind refused to be silenced.

_You want her to trust you._

No. No, he didn't. His jaw clenched tightly, his face pale with rage.

_You want her to want you._

No. No, he hated her. He loathed her utterly, and in that moment, more than he loathed Parkinson and his own wife.

_If you hate her, then be honest as to why._

But he couldn't, because the truth terrified him. It was a stark, icy terror, and it caused his breathing to catch. He was a coward; Draco knew that. He was running from a truth that he was afraid would catch up to him, overwhelm him. He was distracting himself in the arms of the same woman whom he was terrified of. In her arms, he didn't have to think about the rest of his world. In her arms, he could lose himself and not be found until he was stronger. Until everything made sense, if it ever would.

_And she doesn't want you. She had no options, and so she turned to you. She saw your weakness. She saw your desire._

He trembled as he gazed down the long, winding stairwell. They were no longer talking, and his grip tightened even further, as if he were fortifying himself against the violent storm of his emotions.

_I hate her._

But, did he?

Yes, in some ways, he did. He hated her because a woman like Hermione Granger should never have turned his head, and here he was, fighting feelings he didn't understand. He hated her because he had risked his life for her, and there had been no logical reason for his actions. He loathed her because she rendered him helpless each time she deemed to touch him. He despised her because she made him _feel. _She was a Mudblood, a nothing, a woman who was driven to desperation, and had sold herself and her dignity because it was all she had left to offer.

And yet, it was _he _who felt like he was not good enough.

And such an idea left him afraid and helpless.

She didn't want him. She didn't trust him.

Each of her words had been like sharp and jagged pieces of glass, tearing against his soul, even though he shouldn't have cared. For weeks now he had waited to be with her, in hopes that she would want him, and now, what did it matter?

_She is__ a whore. And I have been a fool. She humiliates me. No more._

Swiping harshly at his watering eyes, livid that she should even render such emotion within him, Draco half ran, half stumbled down the stairwell, no longer caring if they heard him or not.

Granger may not have wanted him, but she was his, to do with as he pleased, and now rage drove Draco, white and blinding.

"Granger!"

He nearly tumbled to the bottom of the well, causing the two sitting on the steps to jump away lest he run over them in his haste.

He avoided any possibility of meeting her eyes, for they were his downfall.

"Get up, and get moving."

"Malfoy, I-"

"Shut it!"

The demand was harsh and panicked.

"Drink the bloody potion, and don't waste my time, Granger. The sodding party is over."

He gave Finnigan a smirk.

"My whore and I will be going now," he spat hatefully. "I'd share her, but I'm afraid tonight's a bad night. Perhaps if she needs something for you, you might just get lucky. After all, she's got nothing else left to offer anyone."

Draco heard Granger's choked gasp, but refused to look at her, his fists clenched at his sides.

"You're a worthless shite, you are."

Finnigan's eyes were snapping with rage, and somehow, that made Draco feel better. He offered what would have been a laugh, were it not so forced and tight.

"Perhaps, but at least, this worthless shite is going to get exactly what he wants tonight."

He turned towards her.

"Granger," he ordered.

She had drunk the potion and the fearful and tearstained eyes of his wife looked back at him. At least, in this countenance, he could look at her – for his wife had never stirred his emotions the way Granger did.

He turned back to glare at Finnigan.

"You say a word of this to anyone, and I'll have you first in line for the Dementors, Finnigan. You just wait and see. There's no room anywhere for half-blood, sympathizing, pieces of shit like you."

He whirled gracefully and then marched up the stairs, not looking to see if Granger would follow. He knew she would. She was that desperate. And tonight, he would take what he had wanted for months. Tonight, all was dark. Tonight, she didn't matter anymore. Only what he wanted.

* * *

><p>The hotel room was swathed in darkness and shadows, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside, though they offered hardly any illumination. Draco didn't bother with the lamps, for he believed not seeing her face would be best. After all, it was simply an arrangement, wasn't it? There was nothing behind it, no feelings, no trust.<p>

_She'll be a worthless shag, and I'll be just like Flint, won't I? Maybe, that's just how it's supposed to be.__ Maybe I've been a fool about everything._

"What did Finnigan tell you, Granger?"

His words were cold and harsh, and he leaned against the wall nearest the bed, watching her, his eyes keen in the darkness.

"N-nothing."

Her lie was a terrified whisper, and he snorted, shaking his head.

"You dare lie to me?"

She did not answer, instead beginning to weep. The tears did nothing but fuel his rage.

"You make me sick," he hissed crossing the distance between them and forcing her face up, the light beyond the windows making the tears in her eyes glitter. "You fear me, and yet something else drives you more. Your disgusting, worthless loyalties, which mean nothing anymore. Don't you know that?"

He gave her a shove so that she had no choice but to back up against the wall, where he swiftly blocked the possibility of her escape by placing both his hands on the wall on either side of her.

"Do you really think Seamus Finnigan will save you if I so choose to put you on the list for the Dementors?"

His words were soft, like those of a lover, but there was no mistaking the menace beneath their gentle veneer. He stepped closer blocking all light from her vision, so that he was nothing more now but a shadow with glittering eyes.

"Do I need to remind you, Granger, who holds your life in their hands?"

"Stop!"

Her voice was choked with unshed tears, but the fear was there, whether she wanted to show it or not.

"I've given you everything I have! I don't know what you want from me!"

Draco sneered at her, his fingers curling against the wall. It was cool to his touch. He refused to show his true emotions, the fact that what he wanted, she could not give him.

"Tonight, you'll know."

His whispered was followed by the touch his hand against her waist, resting there, pressing so that she was flat against the wall.

"Tonight, you won't have to wonder if I will, or I won't."

Draco's voice had grown husky with the need he had been suppressing for weeks, and in the darkness, she was changing now, the potion wearing off for the last time, so that now the woman in the bedroom was truly Granger, and not Granger in Astoria's body. The sight of her made everything in him twist with desire.

He hated it.

He embraced it.

He loathed wanting her, and yet knew that if he lost himself in the desires she wrought in him, he wouldn't have to think anymore.

He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn't.

"You won't have long to wait now, Granger. Go ahead and cringe, hold your breath in that way you do when I lean in to kiss you," he continued, running a finger down the side of her face, seeing her body tense under his touch.

At least, here, he wielded a strange power over her. She may not have wanted him, but her body did.

"It's not like you care about me, is it? And I certainly don't care about you. It's all just business."

He finished his casual, callous murmur against her lips, and felt goose bumps as they rose up along her silken flesh. He deepened the kiss, forcing her mouth open under his, feeling his body melting against hers, his eyes falling closed. He wanted to forget his feelings, forget the lies that he had whispered to her.

"Funny," he managed to say when he broke away from her mouth. "Funny, how I'm the only man you can trust now, Granger. No matter what anyone says to you, it's me who is your only hope in saving Lily."

He saw her eyes flickering in confusion, her face turned up towards his, only inches away so he could breathe in the intoxicating scent of her. It made it hard to think, and as he spoke, his fingers closed around her wrist, loose at first, but tightening with each word he spoke.

"And yet, still you don't trust me. Still, you don't want me. Still, you make yourself a pathetic, sacrificial lamb at the altar of the Death Eaters. It could have been different, Granger."

He could see her fear, brightening the depths of those impossibly bewitching eyes.

_She fears me. It is as it should be. I was the fool for thinking that feelings even had a place in this arrangement._

"But we'll have it the way you want it. Make your sacrifice, _Mudblood_."

He shoved her against the bed, watching her fall, and he followed, tearing off the grey suit coat he had been wearing all evening long. He saw her sudden, sparkling tears and the way her lips trembled, and he was glad for it.

Pain for pain, he decided.

"We Malfoys have a very simple truth," he hissed, as he pressed his gluttonous mouth against her trembling lips. "It's like this."

He sat up, and then reached down to stroke his hands over her body.

"Want."

He yanked her up, causing her to groan in surprise, before muffling the sound by taking her mouth with almost a savage motion so that she could do nothing but cling to him, whimpering softly. Somehow, this power he had over her, fueled his dark desires. His lips traveled over the hollow of her creamy flesh, biting so that she could feel it, so that it was near painful, and Draco reminded himself that she was no longer woman, but object. His hands, though he fought to keep them from trembling, ran down and over her breasts, still hidden under the swath of crimson satin she was wearing. He moved his hands along the smoothness, hearing her hiss in response, moving against his hand even if she truly wasn't willing.

"Take."

In one violent movement, he managed to rip aside the dress, tossing the fabric off the bed, taking in the sight of her flesh, free for his taking. Free, for she had offered to him so wantonly. She was naked within moments, and his mouth sought her flesh, the peaks of her breasts, relishing the guttural sounds he was wringing from her.

_So, you don't want me, then?_

His heart raced within him, out of control, fueled by his self-hatred and the rage he felt towards her.

"Have."

The last word was a choked sound falling from his lips as his fingers ran down her heated body and against the most secret part of her. She was hot, wet, ready for him, and just a touch sent a tremor through her, and he felt her fingernails digging into his flesh through the white shirt he still wore. At first, he was gentle, forgetting that she was supposed to mean nothing to him, and he tenderly slipped his finger into her. One, then two, and he moved them back and forth, engulfed by her velvet heat. Then, the rhythm picked up speed, intensified, so that it was maddening, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, and he leaned in, burying his face against her throat as he fumbled with the belt around his trousers, willing himself to just do it.

_Do it. Do it, because it's what she__'s expecting. Do it, because it's what she's offering. Don't think, just do it, because it's all she'll give you._

Draco closed his eyes, blocking out all thoughts, everything but the way she felt against his fingers, the way her body responded to him, the way she smelled, so sweet and musky all at the same time, the way she sounded, husky and taut with need.

_Merlin-_

The sheets were cool and crisp against his legs as he pushed her against the mattress roughly and she fell, eyes wide with fear, her dark hair fanning against the white pillow as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"It could have been different, Granger," he whispered, shaking his head, trembling as he tore off his trousers with trembling hands, tossing them aside, his gaze wide and dark with a desire he had no ability to hide. "I wanted it to be different."

He spat the words out hatefully, shaking with disgust – at himself, and at the situation and at the feelings that assaulted him with each breath. But, when he moved in to finally take what she had been offering, she began to fight back, trying to move, and he saw the tears running down her face.

"No," she whispered, tearing away from him, her eyes wide, even as he crawled across the bed to reach for her greedily.

"You said I could have what I wanted," he hissed. "This is what I want. You don't get to say no!"

"You're scaring me," she whispered, her face appalled at his sneer.

He didn't listen, closing the distance between himself and the mouth, the woman he wanted. The woman he needed. Even if she didn't want him, or need him. As he kissed her, he tasted her tears, warm and bitter against his lips. Sensation began to blur, and Draco grew disoriented, his breathing shallow, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. It was then, that he broke. With a whimper, Draco wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her neck.

Then, he cried.

He cried because he was alone and terrified of how he felt, of what was happening to him. And as he cried, he felt her whispering to him, and it was strange, sweet almost.

"I'm sorry…"

His voice was muffled.

"So sorry, Hermione."

Her name on his lips was like the freedom he sought. Her name on his lips was like the hope he desperately needed. And he clung to her.


	22. Chapter 22

_I personally felt unsure about the last chapter, apart from the Seamus stuff because that I had already planned, but I thank you for your enthusiastic response.__ I'm beyond flattered, guys, by all your support. It's tremendously overwhelming because this story is just one amongst so many! I'm sure if you liked the last chapter, this one should be just as good (at least I liked the way it ended up). As always, adult themes ahead. I also wanted to make mention here that this week starts a change in my work schedule (I was promoted) and so if you notice my posting slow down, it's just because I need to readjust to my new life. I still plan on working on this, but I just need to figure out how it's going to work with more work hours, a different shift, and different responsibilities. Plus I'm working on a prompt for the InterFest on Live Journal, which should be up soon, but it takes away from this story a bit too. Anyway, on with the good bits, yes? _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO<p>

* * *

><p>She knew that the world was different now. Each day, Hermione had been reminded in small, strange ways. But this, the fact that this man – Draco Malfoy – was weeping in her arms, seemed the starkest reminder of how everything in life had changed. Never had there been a stranger sound than his choked sobs, and the way he muttered her name, both soft and roughened on his parted lips. Never had she felt the strange feeling of having him against her, the hard, unclothed parts of him against her nude softness. And, in all her life, an apology had never seemed so sincere, and, at the same time so uncertain and terrified.<p>

Though she struggled against feeling sympathy, Hermione felt tears brimming in her eyes, and the soft murmuring of her whispers filled the silence in the room. Gone was his sudden bout of violent rage, the fury with which he had handled her, his near violation of her. He was limp against her, his hands clasped around her neck, not tightly but not loosely, and she felt their heaviness along her nape, winding the curls of her loose hair around his fingers.

She let him cry, knowing how sometimes, that was all one could offer – a shoulder to weep on. At least, she decided, this could be the knowledge that even though the feeling of loneliness reigned supreme, the touch of another could be a faint reminder that all was not lost.

Hermione was unsure of how long he cried, sitting that way against her, but soon enough he stopped trembling, and his hands unwound themselves from her and he sat back. It was too dark to see his face, and maybe, that was part of the reason why he had been able to lose himself in tears. But Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see his face.

"The lights?" she whispered tenderly, reaching over him towards the small lamp that was standing on a wooden table nearest his side of the bed.

It bathed the room in a warm, yellow glow and Hermione looked around at their opulent surroundings. Then, she looked at him, as he wiped the remnants of his tears away.

For a moment, the silence was heightened with tension, and then he groaned and fell back onto the pillows. Hermione was aware of his turmoil, for every inch of him seemed tense, but the woman in her responded to the fact that apart from the shirt he wore, the rest of his body was in plain view, and she couldn't help but look.

Blushing, she finally tore her eyes away from him, swallowing hard.

He offered no conversation, and she began to grow anxious. What next? What now? Would he back away, try to renegotiate on their agreement? What would happen to Lily? At the same time, a completely different part of her began to stir. Why had he stopped yet again? What did it mean? Why did she feel guilt over only worrying about her situation, when he was obviously battling with his own demons?

And why in Godric's name was she worried about a man she hated?

_Because, you don't__ hate him the way you think you do._

The cold reality rose up from within, crushing her under its weight. She snuck a look at him, biting her bottom lip in consideration.

Though her heart was beating normally again, and the touch, the violation of his fingers was no more, still she felt him upon her, the way he had kissed her, his touches, his all consuming fire – all of it made Hermione dizzy. Never before had she felt such loathing, yet, such hunger for any other man. Never had she wanted a man's touch nearly as much as she feared it. Even if she told herself over and over that she didn't want him, why had her body betrayed her each and every time he was near?

_It's maddening!_

Confused, Hermione stared down at her hands, where the wedding ring that belonged to his wife still glittered upon her finger. Sighing, she removed it, and then turned her gaze up at him. He was already watching her, the look in his eyes unreadable. His gaze strayed from her face, along her body, and down to the ring she held in the palm of her hand. Something about his unabashed scrutiny made her blush and her body awaken.

"D-do you want it back?"

Hermione's first words were whispered and tentative, as if she wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. She watched as he sat up, and sighed.

"I suppose I'll need it."

Malfoy's words were flat, without emotion, and she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness settle within her. She watched as he reached out quickly, snatching the ring from her hand and then settling against the pillows on the bed. His face was pale, even in the golden light of the lamp, and subtle signs that he had been crying were still evident there.

"Get dressed," he muttered, turning away from her. "We'll portkey back to the alienage."

The sadness swelled and grew as Hermione swallowed back tears. At some point she had imagined not going back to that alienage – at least for that night, anyway. She had thought she would spend the night with-

"Do you love Astoria?"

Hermione's question stopped him as he stood up on the other side of the bed, reaching for his discarded trousers.

"What kind of question is that, Granger?"

_Hermione, he had called me Hermione. _

She could hardly speak, wondering if that moment had even happened. Since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort, she had not heard a sound more beautiful than her name on his lips.

_Hermione, __I'm sorry._

She knew that once she was back in the alienage, under the covers of her bed, shivering from the night's coldness, it would be that memory which would warm her.

"-what I said?"

His words were clearly tinged with irritation and the stirred Hermione out of her reverie.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What I was saying is that…well, what do you think? You know what she's like. Do you think she's easy to love?"

Hermione wondered at the question for a moment, and then looked at him, reaching for the sheet in front of her to cover her body with.

"I don't know her," she replied solemnly. "I don't know her secrets, her fears, her desires. I don't know anything about her. She is _your_ wife."

He stood in front of her, dressed only in unbuttoned trousers. He had removed his shirt to mend it quickly, and spoke without looking up.

"I don't know her fears, her secrets, or her dreams, Granger."

"If you loved her, then you'd know," she muttered, marveling at his indifference.

"I suppose then, you have your answer, don't you?"

Hermione looked away from him, a frown on her face. Yes, she supposed she did. She heard the sound of his footsteps for a second and then nothing. His voice, strained and quiet, broke the silence.

"So, I imagine you loved Weasley, then?"

She didn't miss the disdain in his voice.

"Of course I did," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I miss him everyday. I could never have married him otherwise! You have to love the person you-"

She hesitated, realizing what she had just said, and glanced at him, her mouth closing. She saw his sneer, though it faltered on his lips for a brief second.

"Well, then it's quite fortunate, isn't it Granger? That your life has been so perfect."

Once more, the contempt was clear in his voice and mannerisms.

"I figured that one pureblood was as good as any other," he continued, and Hermione found herself surprised that he would be so open. "Astoria was no worse than the other girls my father had arranged."

Hermione glanced down at the intricately embroidered comforter that lay between them, afraid to say more, though she found herself interested in what he had to say. A long silence fell upon them and finally, she sighed and stood to get dressed, wrapping the cotton sheet around her body tightly.

His next question stopped her in shock.

"What happened, you know, after the battle at Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't turn, afraid that all the terror and pain she had felt that day would be painted upon her face. He had already seen her at her worst, after all.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"What happened?"

Irritation crept into his tone as he continued.

"Remember that day at the alienage, when Pansy went after James? You had the gall to call me a coward, Granger. I suppose from where you and the almighty golden duo were sitting, it may have looked like that. Had it never crossed your minds that I was just as frightened as you all were?"

She whirled on him, the fire of indignation burning in her eyes.

"You, afraid?" she mocked. "When you saw how many of ours had fallen, Malfoy? When you knew Voldemort had won?"

His grey eyes widened in surprise.

"And how, pray tell, would I have known that, Granger? That war raged on for months!"

Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. It had seemed like years to her. Years of fear and running and the hopelessness…

"We ran," she muttered flatly. "We wanted to regroup, to try again. We couldn't just have given up."

Malfoy offered a soft snort and when she looked up, he was gazing out at the darkness, and not at her.

"Hope springs eternal, I suppose. Though I've always found that sentiment to be a bunch of rubbish."

She found herself secretly agreeing with him – after all, all hope had been lost when Harry had died.

"So, you ran?"

"Yes, and we never stopped."

"Potter managed to have kids," he pointed out gruffly.

Hermione's head snapped up at the strange quality of his voice, but still he faced away from her so it was impossible to guess at his emotions. Something in that voice however, irked her. It implied that in spite of every horror that they had endured, Harry should have been grateful that he had been blessed with children.

"Would you have taken that from him, too?" she mocked, swallowing back another hateful reply. "We went through months, even years of hell! Do you begrudge us the small and insignificant moments of joy we were able to share with each other? Are all of you truly so callous?"

Her tear-filled words stirred him from his place by the window, and as Malfoy turned, he threw out his hands.

"Is that what you think? Well, I'll let you in on a fact, Granger. This life hasn't been so peachy for me either!"

Angry words bubbled to her lips, painted in a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm.

"Oh, I feel so sorry for you! Living off of your daddy's money! Sitting in your posh office at the Ministry, and living in that grand house! I'm sure that must have really been a difficult six years for you, Malfoy!"

They were pitted against each other, both holding back a barrage of words meant to wound. But neither spoke for a few seconds, though sometimes a look conveyed much more than any words could.

"I never implied that your life hasn't been hard!"

His words were pointed and sharp and his eyes narrowed until his they were molten silvery slits. Hermione clenched her fists.

"You know what, Malfoy? The problem isn't your implications, or lack thereof! The problem is that your mouth is still moving, and, if there was any fairness in the world, you wouldn't get to say anything! Do you hear me? NOTHING! Not a word, until you have to watch your wife die in front of your eyes, and you lose your whole family and your life in the blink of an eye, and you suffer pain and humiliation at the hands of people who are no better than you are! What do you have to say for that, huh? Do you really think I could possibly sympathize with any of your petty issues when they pale in comparison to all the things that you've done-"

He hesitated, breathing heavily.

"That _have_ been done to me," she finished weakly, overwhelmed suddenly with the urge to break down and cry.

But she was afraid that he might not be there to comfort her, and instead, she simply stood, head down. Even though she still raged with injustice, Hermione also knew that it wasn't Malfoy who had harmed her. Not ever, and she wouldn't lump him with the others.

His reply was cold, and the words clipped.

"Change doesn't just happen on one side, Granger. When change happens, it's…it's everything, and everyone."

There was a tense pause.

"Everything happened so quickly, you know. The fall of the Ministry, my father was so desperate! I saw what happened, I saw what was going to happen, and there's always been this side of me that's know it was wrong, but it all just started to snowball-"

Hermione heard a break in his voice, and saw his fists were clenched tightly as he spoke, though she had to step forward to hear him.

"Didn't you do everything you could to survive?" he asked plaintively. "What I did, it was to survive, Granger."

She found herself helpless.

"At the expense of all those that fell around you? It makes no sense!"

His face bloomed with color.

"Tell me one thing that makes sense anymore! Not what's happening out there! Power has turned to greed. There was once a vision, you know. Even if you didn't believe in it, all this started with a vision. It might have been skewed, and prejudiced, but whatever it was, it's not what it used to be. It's diseased now, like a cancer, growing, changing, and erasing emotion and conscience."

He had sat down on the bed, and Hermione joined him, because she couldn't ignore his obvious pain.

"Nothing makes sense, Granger. Too many deaths, too many heartless decisions, too much hatred now. We've only done what we have to for survival."

She couldn't look at him, and her reply was wrought with pain.

"Survival at what cost, Malfoy?"

He touched her, his hand too warm against her face.

"You tell me, Granger."

Those grey eyes were too knowing, she realized. They gazed into her own, as if searching her soul. Her mouth fell open, but she couldn't speak.

"What are you doing here, if it's not paying the highest price for your own survival, and that of the ones you love?"

Tears sprung to her eyes, and Hermione felt a shameful blush color her face.

"I don't know," she whispered in reply.

"Don't you?"

"I…it's about Lily."

"You gave up your dignity in hopes of saving her."

His voice was a soft murmur and her reply was as soft as a sigh.

"And I came to you because I believed you might help me. You're not like the others, I know that. I'm not stupid. I know you could turn me in anytime you wanted. I never believed Seamus could save me, not the way-"

She fell silent, looking away from him, her heart pounding furiously. She felt his heated touch once more.

"Look, Granger. This thing, this deal between us doesn't make sense. I know it. In any other lifetime, and any other circumstance, we wouldn't be here like this."

She took a chance, and looked up at him, her breath catching.

"I know," she whispered this time and reached up to cup his face in her hands, feeling the slight roughness there.

She felt him shudder slightly and then he clasped her fingers with his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing them in a move that Hermione found was unexpected, and it melted her heart. There was something beyond astonishing in the way he gazed at her.

_He can't care about me, can he? Of course not, that would be madness. It's just, this world is so messed up, and somehow, there's something between us now. Something that helps with the pain, and sometimes, I just want the pain to end…_

"Maybe we're both just mental?" he said with a choked laughing sound, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and even those small caresses seemed to melt everything within her.

Hermione swallowed, leaning up to kiss him too, tiny butterfly caresses against his chin. She realized with a growing fear that she was getting used to the way he felt against her skin, the way he smelled, the comfort of his warmth-

"This whole world is mental," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him properly, forgetting that she didn't really _want_ him.

It was hard to think about who she was, and who he was, and how impossible it was that they were in each other's arms this way. She reached out to smooth his hair in a tender gesture.

_I'm way in over my head._

She saw desire flicker in the depths of molten gray eyes for a moment, as he leaned down to steal another kiss, brushing his lips against hers in a maddeningly slow fashion.

"I want you, Granger. Even though nothing about that makes sense, still, I want you."

Hermione took in a sharp breath, feeling her whole body respond to his husky admission. Her eyes fluttered closed just as he squeezed her fingers.

"No, I want to see your eyes."

When she opened them, Hermione took in the handsome face, from which all anger and contempt was gone. She was glad that he no longer looked cruel. He reached down, running his fingers along the smoothness of her cheek. His touch and the seduction in his eyes drew something deep and dark within her, making her body come alive, as if by uncontrollable magic.

This kiss was different than the others they had shared, and Hermione knew that it would be tonight, now. And it filled her with a cold fear, making her shudder just as his tongue ran along her lower lip in the most tantalizing fashion, begging for entrance. She acquiesced with a sigh, and melted into him, feeling the sheet wrapped around her slipping so that soon she felt nothing but the muscular heat of him and the crisp white shirt which she removed with trembling fingers.

It wasn't so bad, she knew. It could have been worse. It could have been with a man more cruel and sadistic than Draco Malfoy. Hermione knew she didn't hate this man, and she knew that his touch awakened something within her that helped mollify all the fears and sadness in her life, and even if it was now, just for a few moments, she was willing to give into the bliss. His kiss was like a call, a faraway call that she desperately answered with her own.

His fingers twisted deliciously into her hair, and she moaned into his mouth, whimpering her desire, which fueled his own, and their kisses grew more passionate, their bodies more frantic for each other. Hermione had forgotten what this felt like, being close as skin to someone else, to feel the out of control heartbeat, to smell the musky scent of passion painted flesh. It had only ever been Ron, and her experience was limited, but in Draco's arms, and in that moment, it didn't seem to matter much.

His lips nibbled down her flesh, teasing her, making her writhe against him.

"Please…"

"Granger, how many chocolate éclairs did you have? You taste like pastry cream."

Her response was a half laugh, half groan of need.

"Must you jest at a time like this?" she whimpered, her trembling fingers dancing uncertainly along the muscled planes of his body, searching, exploring unchartered territory with increasing desire. "Can't you just touch me?"

This time, he groaned, pulling the sheet away from her completely, and running his knowing fingers down her body, making her cry out against him.

"Like this?" he chuckled, meeting her eyes.

She wondered why he had to smell so good, and feel so divine. She wondered why she couldn't get enough of the way his face felt against her neck, her breasts, the exquisite feeling of his lips against her nipples. Merlin's beard, she was terrified of what she was feeling! It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. But Hermione fell too easily into not thinking and allowing the man in her arms to use her in whatever way he wanted. The sheet was gone, and his trousers quickly went the same way, and she blushed at his perusal of her body.

"You are…there are no words," he finished, his voice choked, and Hermione nearly died at the tone in his voice, the need, the passion.

"Draco-"

He silenced her with sweet, intoxicating kisses, and soon, she could find no words, only whimpers to express what she was feeling. His body, and the evidence of his need pressed hotly against her thigh, and Hermione felt him trembling as she opened her arms to him, offering herself willingly. Except that she realized she didn't feel like a prisoner anymore, or like his mistress. She felt…_chosen._

Her fingers ran along his body, thrilling at the feel of his skin, velvety and warm beneath her fingers. She was unsure of what to do, of how to please him, for it had been a long time for Hermione, and it had never been with Draco, ever. Like the touch of his hand, this man was unexpected; he was nothing like she had imagined he would be. She moaned at the tender way his fingers skimmed the most secret parts of her; those parts that not even Ron had touched- as if he _knew_ exactly what to do, to make everything in her sing with pleasure.

"Draco, please-"

He groaned at the sound of her voice, burying his face against her neck, and his breath caused her to shiver. Then he reached down, grasping her hips and pulling her tightly to him in a move that was so possessive, it drove her mad with need.

"Bloody hell, you drive me insane. Say it again. Say my name…Gods-"

Hermione felt herself responding to his heated growl, and she whimpered his name, as he pressed against her, leaving a tantalizing trail of pleasure wherever his hands touched. She nearly sobbed when he stopped, hesitating, his eyes somber.

"Granger?"

The whisper was ragged and his eyes were like quicksilver as they met hers with fascination. Her own eyes responded to the emotion in his, and she had a difficult time with words.

"Hermione," she corrected huskily, her fingers splayed along his back, and one hand gripping the back of his neck. "My name is Hermione."

His heartbeat quickened against hers, and he pressed himself even closer.

"Her-mione if you don't want this, I'll – I won't. The deal doesn't matter; I don't want this if you don't."

Hermione watched as his eyes flickered across her face, searching for a sign, a moment of recognition, of acquiescence, and she knew that even though it was so wrong, she wanted him. Wanted him just like he wanted her.

Slowly her hands ran down his back, her legs running up and down the backs of his, as he nestled himself in between them. She felt him completely; his pulsing, rigid member, and suddenly, Hermione felt a need so poignant she nearly cried out.

With certainty, she wrapped her thighs around him, and pressed the heels of her feet against his backside, offering herself, giving her silent, needy permission. His hands ran up the backs of her arms, and then his palms was against hers, pressing her hands against the pillow she lay on, trapping her as he trembled for a moment above her and finally sank into her liquid heat, until they were joined together completely.

The moment was terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. Never had Hermione felt so complete, never had she felt as utterly possessed by any man as she was in that moment, gazing into his eyes as he stopped moving against her, simply watching her back in fascination.

"Hermione," he managed say, raining kisses along her chin, her lips, and her neck.

She whimpered in response, trusting herself against him, seeking the age-old rhythm, wanting to feel him moving inside of her. He did, slowly at first, and then with more intensity, and she was completely taken with him, with the moment, with the way he looked in the throes of his passion. It was the most beautiful sight she could ever remember, in such a cruel, war-torn world.

Her head fell back as his mouth found the softness of her throat, and she could feel his ragged breathing with each of her runaway heartbeats. She felt his hands releasing her, and moving down her burning flesh, in between their joined bodies, towards the core of her. As they moved in a graceful erotic dance, he helped her along, his fingers making magic Hermione had never known. Just the knowledge that a man could make her feel such pleasure caused her to come undone completely, and she tightened her grip on him, burying her face into his chest helplessly. The swirling in her belly grew and grew, intensifying as he moved against her, drove into her relentlessly. Time stopped, and she shuddered against him with a strangled cry, nails digging into his flesh.

A moment later she felt him tense and then tremble in her arms, slowing his movements gradually. Hearts began to slow, skin began to cool, and Hermione buried her flushed face against his neck, afraid to look up into his eyes, shy almost. He smelled of soap and sex, of heat and musk, and she couldn't get enough of him. Though he was heavy, she welcomed his weight, refusing to let him go, wanting just another moment of bliss, of the feeling that she was wanted again.

But he gently disentangled himself from her, despite her best efforts to keep him close.

"Granger," he muttered with a sound that may have been a laugh.

"Hmmm…"

Her hands were in his hair, and she felt disappointed that once again, she was 'Granger', when 'Hermione' was so much more beautiful coming from him. He felt so right in her arms; it was nearly painful when he finally removed himself from her embrace.

"Granger," he whispered again, this time with a husky tenderness that made Hermione's heart race. How strange this all was, she realized.

"What?"

They gazed at each other, and his fingers ran through her riot of damp curls playfully, a near smile on his face, which was still flushed with his passion. In the light of the lamp, he looked…perhaps not happy, but at least…content. Maybe, she had made him content. Why that mattered to Hermione, she didn't even know.

Leaning down, he pressed a slow kiss to the side of her mouth, sighing.

"Sleep, now."

She watched, masking her disappointment, as Malfoy moved from the bed, sitting up, and burying his face in his hands, his fingers in this too-messy hair. And she couldn't help the strange sadness that left her empty and anxious once again. For how could a man bring her such pleasure one moment and such loneliness the next?

For a long time, he did not move, and finally, Hermione lay back down, wrapping the sheet around her body, turning from him, knowing she would not sleep.

* * *

><p>Ginny's eyes opened to the sunrise, though it was weak coming through the grime covered windows of the alienage sleeping quarters. She heard nothing stirring around her, but knew instinctively that she had been awoken by something or someone.<p>

The room was swathed in the blue of the coming dawn, the sky still glittering with stars though the sun struggle to rise along the horizon in the distance.

Blinking, she rolled over, shivering under the thin, grey blanket that she had slept under. Hermione's bed was still made from the day before; her friend had never returned.

_Where are you, 'Mione?__ What aren't you telling me? What is Malfoy doing to you?_

Over passing days of autumn, Ginny had started to wonder where Hermione's assuredness was coming from, how she was holding out hope in a situation that seemed bleaker each day that Ginny was forced to live another day. She wondered what exactly Hermione did each day she and Malfoy left the alienage, and wasn't sure anymore if what Hermione told her was the truth. And she feared that Hermione would be willing to give anything to save Lily, to save any of her family, including her life.

_Oh, Hermione!_

There was a shuffling sound nearby, and Ginny lifted her head from the thin pillow to see Lavender watching her in the early morning shadows. So, that's what awoken her, Ginny realized.

The other woman was dressed in a worn, but clean jumper and a long, threadbare skirt. The bruises had healed, revealing a pretty, albeit worn face. The years of hardship and sadness had etched their lines into her once flawless skin. Her blue eyes had lost their luster, and were perpetually a portrait of hopelessness. When she saw that Ginny was awake, Lavender crawled across her cot to be closer to the other woman.

"Where does Hermione go?"

The question was a whisper, and Lavender lay down on her stomach, the sunshine yellow curls that had escaped her hair tie falling across her forehead. Ginny watched her former classmate with hesitation.

"What do you mean?"

"Where does she go during the day? I've noticed…she's gone in the mornings and doesn't come back until the sun starts to set. And last night, she never came home at all."

The dawn around them began to lift as the room slowly brightened. Ginny sensed a tension in Lavender, and the almost unholy thirst in her blue eyes as the bored into Ginny.

"She has a job," she replied softly.

"What does she do?"

It was evident that Lavender, although silent most of the time she spent in the alienage, and been watching her surroundings sharply.

"She…works for one of the Death Eaters," replied Ginny carefully.

The change was not a significant one, but Ginny could see Lavender's lip twitch and her jaw tense, just as she gathered herself and sat up on the squeaky cot. Though Lavender's face as a carefully placed mask, Ginny could no imagine the horrors that her companion was reliving in her mind.

Ginny believed that a person could only endure so many horrors and humiliations before they shut down completely and weren't able to share with others what was happening to them. Only Lavender would know, to the end, what she had gone through.

"It's a shame," she muttered bitterly, glittering blue eyes trained on the grimy window. "What a woman is reduced to doing for survival."

Ginny felt a cold fear flooding her at Lavender's tone, and she was unable to gather words for a reply. The other woman stood, tears gleaming on her face.

"But I never thought that sanctimonious Hermione Granger would ever lower herself to prostitution."

Although Ginny felt ample sympathy for her companion, she felt her cheeks redden with anger.

"It's not like that!"

Lavender offered a mirthless laugh.

"Yeah," she spat. "That's what they all say, at the beginning. That's what I said, you know."

She sank down, her body stiff and unyielding.

"But, the truth is, in the end you need food and shelter, and your integrity doesn't seem like such a steep price to pay. It's not so bad after awhile. One man's just like any other."

Her words were dark and resentful, and Lavender wrapped her arms around herself. Ginny, blooming with righteous anger, moved to defend Hermione.

"You don't understand what they did to her here!" she hissed, her voice low so that no others would hear her. It was bound to start issues and with Lily being in such a precarious position-

"They beat her, they nearly killed her!"

Though Ginny thought Lavender had probably been through similar or even worse, the blonde turned her pale face away, seemingly untouched.

"You don't think I've been through the same?" she replied flatly. "They took everything from me! And then, they took my baby!"

"I'm sorry about that," Ginny replied, softening a bit. "That had to have been horrible, I can only imagine."

Lavender jumped up.

"You don't get to say anything!" she hissed, her face a mask of hatred and bitterness. "Nothing, you hear?"

She rushed off, swiping at the tears that continued to fall, and disappeared through the door. Ginny felt drained, watching Lavender disappear, and suddenly for whatever reason, she felt a cold dread settle upon her heart.

"Hermione, where are you? What are you doing?"

She found herself mouthing the words in the silence of the morning, wrapping the blanket around herself to ward of the chill, though it did nothing to quell the coldness within. She gazed blankly out of the window at the whitish-blue sky and the pale yellow rising sun.

_Draco Malfoy, you had better not hurt her._

Then, Ginny got up to start her day, hoping as she did each morning, that it would be her last.


	23. Chapter 23

_In this installment, feelings are starting to get muddled, and Lavender learns something important. Hopefully this will be about my posting speed now, every three of four days, depending on what's going on. Enjoy, and thank you so much always for your support!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione was surprised to see the brilliant morning light shining through the far windows of the hotel suite the next morning. Somehow, she had believed that sleep would be impossible. For a moment, she was disoriented, and her heart raced, before reality set it and she remembered where she was, and who she was with. At that thought, she turned in the bed, her naked body against the messy, silken sheets, and her fingers fumbled for the other side, hoping to find-<p>

The satin was cool to the touch; he was not there. Hermione fought with a strange feeling of disappointment that flooded her, and she lay still, staring up at the intricately carved high plaster ceiling, blinking furiously against the sudden heat behind her eyes.

_Oh, Sod! What is wrong with me? It's not like it meant anything! I knew it was just sex. Gods, I'm really starting to scare myself!_

Usually a sharp reminder of her situation helped Hermione with perspective, but lying in that bed, that morning, remembering the way Malfoy felt against her body had clearly muddled her brain. Sighing with frustration, Hermione sat up pulling the sheet around her just as the bathroom door opened and Malfoy stepped out. He was clad in nothing but a fluffy, white hotel towel which hung precariously low on his hips. He was still wet, and she couldn't help but watch rogue water droplets running down along the dips and planes of his body. He stood there, watching her with a smirk on his face, and she wondered if he knew just how enticing he looked.

_Sweet fanny __Adams!_

He ran a hand through his damp hair carelessly, and she watched it fall into his eyes, itching with everything in her to jump up and touch him, brush it away from his face.

_It should be a crime to look as good as he does!_

She blushed and looked away.

* * *

><p>Draco had emerged from the bathroom after a long shower to come face to face with Granger, who, in spite of being wrapped in miles of satin sheets, and her hair a riotous mess around her shoulders, still had the power to stop him in his tracks and make the lower half of his anatomy sing whispered, delicious songs of need.<p>

She was beautiful. He remembered how the night he had first seen her at the alienage, he hadn't been able to call her ugly. Well, that was now an understatement. The truth was, bias made one blind, and he had once been biased against her.

_Once._

His heart thundered in his ears as he felt her eyes on his body, and he offered a smirk because he could see the color flooding across her cheeks and the paleness of her throat and chest. Secretly, Draco was glad that he affected her nearly as much as she affected him. So this madness was shared, he realized. Because, that's what it was. Beyond this room, beyond the physical intimacy, everything else was impossible.

_Oh Gods, but to be with her again!_

Nothing, not any other experience, or any other woman had made Draco forget himself as completely as Hermione Granger. There was life, which was a heavy, dark burden, and then there was that place in her arms that erased all his fears, the worries about the future, everything. And he wanted to find that place again; he wanted to make his home there, to make sure that she never-

No. That was insanity.

Clearing his throat, he spoke.

"I took the liberty of ordering you a muffin…and a change of clothing before we leave."

He wondered at the flicker of disappointment in the exquisite brown eyes that were trained on him with intensity.

"Thank you," she said softly, and then stood.

The sheet slipped from where it had been secured around her breasts, and Draco wondered for a moment when he had grown so fascinated with what lay underneath the beige colored satin. Her body – glorious in it's perfection and her response to him, shy and yet, at the same time sweetly seductive – had captivated him. He wanted to know her, not just as a woman like all the others he had once been with, but _her – _Hermione Granger. He wanted to know what would drive her wild, what would cause her to moan his name, to make her blood boil. He wanted to explore every last inch of her, so that when he was finished, her body would hold no more secrets. He wanted to worship her-

"Will I be going back to the alienage this morning, or to Kensington?"

Her question broke his train of thought, which had been careening out of control into dangerous territory. With her question, the reality of their situation settled upon Draco, and he hesitated with his answer, unsure even, what to say. He wondered what his aunt would say if she knew that their coupling had meant more to him than it should have. He wondered if Hermione herself even knew that! He could almost imagine Flint's laughter, and he certainly didn't _want _to imagine what Pansy might think if she knew the truth. And lastly, there was Astoria, the woman who was his wife. Though he believed there had been no love between them for years now, the night spent in Hermione's arms had confirmed that without a doubt. He didn't love Hermione, no, but he felt more passion and desire for her than he ever had for his wife.

He was a Ministry official, a Death Eater, loyal to Voldemort and the new vision. And she was of dirty blood, the abomination which the same vision saw eradicated.

_And if I had to choose…would it be her? _

Draco watched as she sat on the bed, and she looked so tiny against the backdrop of massive pillows and comforters on the huge bed. Without speaking, he walked across the room, sitting down next to her. And so they sat, side by side like that for awhile, neither knowing what to say. Neither knowing what came next.

Her voice sent a pleasant shiver down his spine when she finally spoke. He wondered when that had started, but realized that he couldn't remember.

"I know you're going to want everything to be the same as it was," she said matter of factly, as she stood up and then went to dress.

He watched as she fumbled with the clothing he had conjured earlier, working quickly to get dressed. He found himself disappointed when most of her body was not in full view, and she managed to keep the sheet pressed to her bosom as she used her other hand to fumble with the clothing.

"And that's fine," she continued, swallowing. "I understand my place. I offered you something you needed. Maybe, we both needed it," she reasoned, pulling her messy curls up away from her face. "I need your help, and all I have to offer you in return is…me. I know what you are, and I know what I am."

As she moved, he suddenly reached out, claiming her wrist in a tight, possessive grasp. She stopped, and Draco saw the confusion flickering in the depths of her cinnamon eyes as they widened.

"We can't forget…outside of this room, what my duty is, and what-

He felt her jerk in his grip, trying to fling off his hand. Her tone was too sharp, too terse.

"I understand, yes."

Bitterness permeated her tone.

Then, silence. It was maddening to Draco, for she refused to look into his eyes, instead staring straight up, her jaw clenched.

"Sit down," he ordered, although his tone was too husky to be a command.

She managed to get away from his touch, hesitating for a split second before sitting down with a sigh. Still, he could not see her eyes. Once more they were sitting side by side, wordlessly.

This time, he broke the silence, his words hesitant.

"I want you to know that I found someone that might be able to help Lily."

At those words, he watched as Hermione's head snapped up, a gasp on her lips.

"W-what?"

"He has connections, and he's…an acquaintance from-"

Somehow, Draco realized actually mentioning Zabini's name would make it all too real – what was happening now, and what was going to happen, and he wasn't sure he was ready to handle the implications of both of the situations. Or the similarities.

"From- way back. At any rate, he owes me a favor, and I requested Lily be transferred away from my alienage, which hopefully means a move to the other side of the city and away from Pansy Parkinson."

He watched her face carefully, the changes in it, the flickering of her beautiful eyes, the fact that she was swallowing over and over again, as if holding back her feelings. Suddenly, her eyes spilled over with tears. Draco felt strangely…naked under her gaze, too scrutinized, as if he was an open book and she could read all his innermost thoughts and desires. Tearing his eyes away from her face was difficult, but he did it, glaring instead at the towel that was still wrapped around his middle.

"Once away from my alienage, he thinks…well, that he can get her out of London as well."

Her touch was too warm on Draco's upper arm.

"Who? When?"

Swallowing hard, he refused to look at her for a moment. Then his eyes met hers.

"I don't know. He wouldn't say, but I hope, soon."

The moment that followed seemed to last a lifetime, and he felt on the edge of a precipice as he gazed at her pale face, ridden with emotion. Her lips moved for a moment, and he could see her breathing was shallow. Finally he heard it, a soft whisper.

"Draco…"

His name on her lips, once, and then again, like a litany. It made his heart beat strangely within him.

"Granger, I-"

"I knew you would help!"

Her tiny hand was in his, squeezing his fingers, making it hard to think, and when he lifted his face up to hers, she was wearing that smile. It was the smile she had given Potter the night they had been separated. It was a smile that had calmed many, a smile that had soothed the rattled soul, and a smile that Ron Weasley had most likely fallen in love with. And now she sat, next to him, impossibly close, and yet-

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning up to kiss him, shyly, uncertainly.

Draco found himself hesitating.

"You know, once we leave this room, you can't be-"

Her face fell.

"You-you can't- you know who I am."

The reminder was strange in his own ears, for he was having trouble forming sentences. He saw her nod.

"Of course," she said resolutely. "I know my place."

Draco could tell that it was difficult for her to say those words, could see it from the way her lips pressed into a tense, thin line. For the first time, perhaps, he saw the color of shame in her eyes, and he wondered if this is how she had been feeling the whole time. Giving up everything she had to save someone else, shaming herself, making herself feel like she was lower than low. At one time, he had believed it too.

Now, he reached down to push a stray chestnut curl behind her ear with the tenderest of touches. The words were on his lips before Draco could understand their meaning.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what's happened to you. I'm sorry about the way I am, they way we are. I'm sorry there's…there's no peace for you."

Her watery eyes widened a fraction, and her grip on his hand tightened a touch, though he barely noticed it, so enamored was he of the way she was gazing at him. What else was there to say? What else could he do and what could he offer? Draco knew only that he would do whatever he could to help Lily Potter, even though mere months ago he wouldn't have dreamt himself in that position. But that was before a glimmer of light, a spark of hope had been offered to him in the person of Hermione Granger, and he wasn't fool enough to let that go so easily. Reaching down, he caressed her face, leaning down to capture her lips for a moment, seeking once more the oblivion he found there, the freedom that she offered, and the respite from all his burdens. He felt the warmth of her hands running along his body, down his lower back and then up around his neck, effectively pulling him closer. Perhaps, she too, was seeking a refuge from the confusion and pain and darkness. Perhaps, she too, didn't want to think anymore.

"You don't have to be sorry," she whispered against his neck, pulling at the towel. Draco's head spun.

"Hermione-"

She groaned.

"Please, don't say anything," She begged. "Just hold me again."

He did, wrapping his arms around her body, and pulling her flush against his own, the ever-present desire in him awakening at the feel of her silken curves once again.

"There is one thing I want from you right now," he breathed against her soft hair. "Right now, in this room, I am just Draco. You are just Hermione. There is no alienage, and there is no new Ministry. It's just us. Can you do that for me?"

She gazed into his eyes, mesmerized, and Draco wondered if ever there had been a truth he wanted more. She nodded without speaking, her lips parting for a breathless moment, and then Draco leaned down, eyes closing just as she pulled away his towel.

"I want that," she managed throatily. "I want…"

"Show me what you want," he whispered huskily.

And without another spoken word, she did.

* * *

><p>It wasn't supposed to be this way, Hermione marveled, as her heart raced against his, and her fingers ran up and down his arms until she finally laced her fingers through his. His part of the bargain was to save Lily. Hermione was supposed to be the one who fulfilled his needs in return. So why did she feel this good? Why was he thinking only of her and not of what he wanted? It confused her, but at the same time, awoke in her feelings that could only be called lust and passion, desire, and need. Her heart stopped racing as she snuggled against his fragrant, impossibly silky hair, running her fingers through it and along the dampness of his skin, completely taken with the man he was, and the feelings still coursing through her. She indulged for a moment in the whimsy that he might care for her, even though Hermione's practical side cried out to be heard, that it wasn't possible. That he was a Death Eater. That he as evil.<p>

But, no.

Hermione couldn't believe that any man who was her enemy could also be a man that she craved. There was only one moment where she could find peace; the moment where she had fallen and he had picked her up. Some truths simply defied explanation, and though it wasn't in Hermione's nature to accept something like that, she had no choice. She turned her head towards his on the pillow, breathing in his warmth, kissing the crook of his shoulder, sighing. When she gazed into his eyes, she saw the corners of his lush mouth turning up into a smile. This too, was strange, for she had never seen Draco Malfoy smile before. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, pressing his cheek against her messy hair.

"Did you know?"

Her question was soft, almost a whisper.

"What you told me about Lily, I mean. Did you know before you and I…?"

Hermione didn't know why she had asked the question, only that she was curious. After all, she was trapped in this situation, with this man, and she had given him everything; he owed her the truth, at least.

"Would you have…with me, if I had told you first?"

His upper lip twitched slightly as he spoke those words, and his somber gray orbs searched her face. Then he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, and then whispering into her ear.

"I've wanted you, I think, for a long time, Granger. That day, in London, I couldn't stop thinking about having seen you. And then, it's been nothing but you since. Forgive me. I'm a selfish fool, but I wanted to have you in my bed before you had a chance to take back your offer. Hate me for it, if you like."

The whisper was simple, and when Hermione looked up into his eyes, they reflected a darkened sobriety. She found it strange that had given permission for something she was sure she felt towards him most of her life, but now, could no longer claim as valid.

"It wouldn't have mattered," she murmured, turning over to stare at the ceiling, her voice resigned. "Before or after, you had already agreed to help me, and I would never go back on an agreement."

"Good. I'm so glad you're pleased with our business arrangement, then."

She turned her head in surprise at the contempt in his voice, but didn't question it. In fact, Hermione said nothing as they dressed, and then left the hotel room and stepped into the fall afternoon.

She wondered at his silence, and at his refusal to meet her eyes. The silence grew deafening over time, and until they stood before the alienage once more, Hermione hadn't known how to break the silence. She watched, feeling a leaden disappointment inundate her as his back turned away from her and he began to glide stiffly away from her.

"Thank you!"

The sound was choked, as if Hermione would cry. She watched him stop, and turn slowly, a strange look on his face. She wasn't sure if it was pity or compassion. It could have been affection. Still, he offered no words, only acknowledging her words with a nod, even as his eyes shifted across the distance to make sure no one had seen them. Somehow, Hermione found this to be more disheartening than anything. Behind closed doors, she could indulge in the silly fantasy that he cared, but here, in the real world, he was a Death Eater again. He gave him one last longing glance, before turning to walk towards the buildings in the distance.

That was when she felt him clasp her hand tightly, his touch as cold as the autumn breeze. He spun her into him and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before letting her go.

"Take care," he whispered, before moving away, and turning the corner towards the Ministry office building.

She stared after him, speechless, her heart hammering wildly.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, Lavender still felt the kick of the baby she had nurtured in her womb for nine months. In the early mornings, just before she opened her eyes, she was back at the flat that Blaise had put her up in, snuggled up in a blanket, her arm draped protectively over the baby whom she had affectionately started calling Daisy. She hadn't been sure if it would be a boy or girl, but it hadn't really mattered to her in the end. And, Blaise had thought it was funny. Most mornings, during the precious few seconds where the last cobwebs of delicious dreams faded away like morning dewdrops, bringing with them the harsh and dismal reality, Lavender was happy.<p>

But such moments were fleeting.

That morning, before her row with Ginny, Lavender had woken up from one of those wonderful half dreams, one in which Blaise had been smiling at her. He had a thousand different smiles – but the one she would always remember, the one that lit up his dark eyes so that they sparkled brilliantly, had been only for her. She had always loved his smile, even at the beginning, that night when he had come into the club where she hustled men. He had been with Malfoy and those other two disgusting wastes of life. Even then, Lavender had hoped he would turn that smile on her, and she had gotten lucky. Oh, yes, she knew that luck had much to do with it, and she wasn't a fool; joy was hard to find, and even though Blaise Zabini had nearly ruined her in the end, the journey had been well worth it. The journey was what she would remember most. The fact that for days, months, nearly a year of time she was special to someone and not just a whore from Paddington. For months of time, she was able to smile, and not just fake it. Finally, she had been given a chance; she had fallen in love. A man, although difficult and guarded, had fallen in love with her, too. What they had shared was not possible to define, and she had long ago stopped trying. Amidst the perfect, shadowed remnants of memories and cruel reminders of reality, Lavender reminded herself that joy was possible, that she had been blessed…for awhile.

Then, there had been Ginny. The stupid row had been pointless, Lavender knew. But try as she might, she wasn't able to feel anything but resentment for her former classmate. She had wondered about Ginny and Hermione, of course. Wondered from the night she had so startlingly recognized them after being brought to the alienage. She had heard, of course, about Harry and Ginny and the children. She had accepted the news with resentment, for how was it Ginny and Harry had been allowed their children, and hers had been taken from her? She had wondered also, about Hermione, though Lavender had hardly ever given her pause in the past. She had been too…eager in school. Too bookish. Too…annoying. And the worst part was, Lavender had been jealous. Jealous that Hermione had ended up with Ron Weasley, because back when she had been schoolgirl, Ron was the only thing she had wanted. And he had dashed her fragile hopes.

That morning, she had desperately clung to her dream of Blaise, stubbornly forcing her eyes closed, clinging to the thin blanket that had done nothing to keep away the cold. She had wanted to remain in her dreams, because there she could be with Blaise again, hear his laugh, feel the perfect touch of his fingers against her flesh. There, it had been the two of them, and she had watched as he doted over their child – a little baby girl. The dream had been a snapshot of a family amidst all the adversity they faced. Much too soon the dream had faded, and the living world had called out to Lavender, singing its cruel song, and she had grudgingly wakened, forcing herself to shake off the grip of sleep, and of her precious dreams.

And then, there had been the stupid row with Ginny Potter, the girl who had been given everything.

Lavender sat on the stoop near the kitchens after having forced herself to swallow flavorless oatmeal for her late breakfast. Kitchen duty was the worst, she decided. But that day, she was relegated to the kitchens for the entirety of her day. In spite of the courtyard brimming with life, she felt completely alone, a world away. She had decided the alienage was no worse than Paddington, but at least there she had felt like she was on her own, like maybe, if she hunkered down and prayed for a change, that one day she would be given the freedom to better herself, to find a place, to find peace. Instead, the Ministry had finally captured her; the thing she had feared the most, and now, well…there was no hope. Here, she could see it in the eyes of the other Muggle-borns. No hope, no future.

This day was especially difficult, Lavender realized. Her baby girl would be six months old. Half a year.

_Mommy loves you, Daisy._

She missed Blaise. She missed holding a little girl. As the others around her ignored the girl on the stoop, Lavender wept silently over the fact that it had taken exactly nine days for Blaise to destroy what she had carried and nurtured within herself for nine months. The hateful, unfair world had taken from her the only real thing of meaning she had ever been able to call her own.

_Damn you, Blaise Zabini!__ You were supposed to love me! Have I been a fool this whole time? Why am I alone? Why did this happen? What did I do wrong?_

Soon enough some of the others from the kitchens had noticed her tears, had started to whisper to each other. Lavender heard the word 'whore' and 'worthless'. She ignored them; it was nothing new to her. Instead, she got up, stumbling across the courtyard, blinded by her tear-filled eyes. As she stepped in between the two buildings leading to the front entrance, she stopped, staring in shock.

Maybe she would have missed them, except that his hair shone brilliantly in the early afternoon sunlight. His lips were pressed against her hair in a caress that was impossibly gentle in such harsh surroundings. His eyes were closed, and she leaned into him, as if he was her only saving grace.

A gamut of emotions roared through an already fragile Lavender, her head spinning and her breathing growing shallow. And she realized in that moment how much she abhorred Hermione Granger. She had already hated Draco Malfoy; she had hated him in school and even more so the night he had blatantly rejected her desperate propositions. But the two of them together filled her with such rage, for a moment Lavender forgot her own pain.

_Ah, so I wasn't good enough, was I? No whores for him, I suppose. Only the best Mudblood will do, yeah? _

She swallowed bitterly, trying to erase the image of their clandestine embrace from her mind – the strange contentment on his face, and the peace on hers- but she couldn't.

Turning and hurrying away, Lavender felt her heart thudding inside of her, rattling her body as if it were nothing but an empty, fragile shell.

_Slam-thunk-_

She couldn't breathe.

_Slam-thunk-_

Each beat felt like someone was taking a dull butter knife to her heart, and attempting to slice through it.

_Slam-thunk-_

And then, pouring salt in the wounds.

_Slam-thunk-_

Hot tears of shame and rage blinded her vision. She couldn't believe that she had so blatantly thrown herself at a man who had probably laughed at her behind her back.

_Slam-thunk-_

It stung – being rejected by Malfoy, and then seeing him embracing a woman who was just as disgusting as she, herself, was.

_Slam-thunk-_

She choked on her own breathing, and then struggled to gather her bearings, hating Hermione Granger more than she had ever hated her before.

* * *

><p>Hermione hurried into the sleeping quarters, her head down, avoiding the possibility of meeting anyone's eyes. She knew that Ginny and Justin were on laundry duty that day – it was a Monday morning, after all. The Ministry within the alienage was nothing if not rigidly structured. They made sure they knew what every soul in the place was doing. She hoped that Malfoy had at least come up with some sort of excuse as to where she had been the day before and all night long. Flashes of the night in his bed assaulted Hermione; she went weak in the knees for a moment, right before the wave of shame erased any tantalizing feelings that had begun to course through her.<p>

The room was empty, mostly dark, except for the sunshine coming through the far windows.

"Ah, so the whore returns!"

The voice was like honey coated cyanide and it made Hermione jump and gasp. She turned to see Lavender stepping out of the shadows near her cot. The expression on her face was strange; Hermione wasn't sure what to think. Her face registered surprise, which made Lavender chuckle darkly.

"What? Not used to that term, Hermione?"

This time the voice was lower, having grown more understanding.

"Would you prefer courtesan? Or, perhaps Geisha? At the end of the day, a woman who sells her body is still a whore."

This time, Hermione let out a squeak of sound, her face blooming a bright pink at Lavender's matter of fact tone.

"I'm not-"

Her strangled words were cut short at the sudden abruptness with which Lavender glared at her.

"No? That's not how I've been hearing it, Hermione," she snapped in a tone that was dry and acidic. "I hear your nights are spent servicing one of the officials here."

Hermione watched as Lavender smiled, though it never reached the depth of her sapphire eyes. In horror, Hermione watched as the other woman ran her hands along the wall, speaking in a thoughtful tone.

"Trying to fuck your way out of here? I know lots of girls that are doing that, you know. I've been doing this a long time, and I can tell by the look on their faces. The way they stare at those men with a hungry look in their eyes."

She stopped, her eyes gazing directly into Hermione's.

"What do you think about when you've got your legs wrapped around him?"

Hermione found herself appalled and sickened by Lavender's words, and a moment later tears welled up in her eyes. There was no way to deny it, she was being a whore. She had given her body to Draco Malfoy in exchange for Lily, and no matter how anyone spun it – Lavender was right.

_Why am I sickened by such talk, when it is nothing worse than what I am doing?_

Still, Hermione fought against the accusations against the integrity she had lost months ago.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a hard silence and then Lavender shrugged with a small, knowing smile.

"D'you suppose he cares for you? I thought Blaise cared for me, but in the end…well, I was wrong."

Her eyes were hard, but Hermione could see the other woman struggling against great pain. Quickly, she spoke, hoping to offer Lavender some sort of hope, in spite of the disgust she was feeling.

"Lavender, I know this isn't easy-"

"I saw you," she countered, face brightening with indignant color. "Outside. You and Draco Malfoy, yeah?"

Hermione felt all the color drain from her face; indeed, soon she was ashen and could hardly stand. Lavender's eyes narrowed.

"He's just like the rest of them. Worse, even. He doesn't care about you. None of them do. You can give them everything, and still they'll take more and then leave you an empty, worthless husk."

A single tear rolled down her face.

"At least I'm honest enough to admit what I am. You're a fool, Hermione. I don't want your sympathy because you're just as pathetic as I am. Even worse, actually, because you can't admit your own worthlessness."

Hard blue eyes made Hermione feel as helpless as she had when faced with Pansy Parkinson. Finally, when she was able to find her voice, Hermione struggled with her reply.

"It's not like that, I-"

Her words grew weaker, until she was no longer speaking, her lips still parted as if she would continue.

_If it's not like what she says it is, then how is it? It's not like he loves me. How many times have I considered what I'm doing with Malfoy as a business deal? _

She was startling to realize that the world she lived in was becoming unbearable without him, for only when they were alone did anything make sense.

Lavender stared at Hermione, her lips a tight scowl.

"I wonder what Ronald would think? You, selling yourself to survive. Do you think he would understand? It's a different world now."

The words were a sibilant murmur, meant to confuse, and meant to imply more than they said. Hermione began to shake inside at the gall of the woman standing before her.

"I can't believe you," she hissed. "After everything you and I have been through these last six years, you can't find one genuine ounce of sympathy? We were friends, weren't we? How can you stand there and make me feel so dirty when you're just as bad as I am?"

Hermione saw a flicker of something in Lavender's eyes for one frozen second, but then in the next, the blond girl had launched herself forward, reaching for her hair, fisting it and pulling hard.

The brunette let out a sharp cry as the pain made her eyes water, and then she found herself wrapping trembling fingers around the blond curls and doing the same, making Lavender shriek in protest. Then they were on the dirty, dusty floor, each trying to inflict pain on the other, Hermione refusing to give up even as she felt Lavender's fist connecting with her face, and leaving what was sure to be a nasty bruise. She kicked hard, trying to escape the other woman's clutches, making strange, animalistic noises, as Lavender wailed like a banshee. Finally, Hermione got a good grip on Lavender's twisting body and she gave her swift, hard kick in the middle and rolled away, panting, her eyes watering and her face smarting from the fight.

She heard the gruff incantation before Hermione could recapture her bearings.

"Impedimenta!"

Instantly, she felt her movements become sluggish and her body to slow down. She fought for a few moments, trying to push through the sluggishness, but the harder the struggled, the slower her body moved. Finally, she laid still, her face against the dusty floor. It was then that she saw the shiny tops of a pair of boots – and a sinking feeling assaulted her. She lay motionless on the ground, spent and angry, but afraid to move. Who would it be? Rookwood? Mulciber? They were the ones that did rounds the most often. She prayed that it wasn't Pansy, but when she looked up it wasn't Mulciber, Rookwood, or Pansy.

Hermione recalled thinking that Marcus Flint had looked like a troll when they were in school together. Age had done him no favors, and she whimpered as he yanked her to her feet, grabbing and then pinching her already hurt shoulder. She could barely move while under Flint's spell, and she helplessly fell onto the nearest cot, wincing when her side hit against the metal rung at the head. A small moan escaped her and she closed her eyes just in time to hear another, painfully familiar voice. Everything in her stirred.

"Incarcerous."

She was bound to the cot within seconds, just as Malfoy lowered his wand and turned to Lavender who was still sprawled ungracefully on the floor.

"Get up. I won't have any of this here, both of you," he warned, first giving Lavender an icy glare and then turning his gray eyes on Hermione.

She saw something flicker for a moment, and she read his expression well enough.

_Not another word._

She willed herself to lie still, just as Lavender's voice broke the tense silence.

"Well, how about that?"

Her tone was dark and contemptuous.

"The hero comes to save the day. Must pay to be sleeping with Malfoy, yeah?"

Before she could finish the words, Hermione watched as Malfoy yanked Lavender to her feet roughly and then dragged her from the room, even as she began to fight back every step of the way. When they were gone, she felt a profound sense of loss.

And when she looked up at Marcus flint, a flicker of dread as well.


	24. Chapter 24

_When I had split the last chapter and this one (again much too long) I hadn't realized that the split would be such a cliffhanger. At any rate, I put this up as soon as I could. ;) In this installment, Draco deals with Lavender, and Hermione faces Flint__. I received a review awhile back predicting (strangely) what's about to happen in the chapter after this one. I thought it was quite eerie myself. Just a head's up – this also ends on a cliffie, but I had to split the scene up because it was unbearably long, but the good news is that you'll all be able to guess what is going to happen next. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR<p>

* * *

><p>Four minutes into fighting with Lavender Brown, Draco gained a new appreciation for Zabini's seemingly adept strength – for he was having trouble controlling the sodding bint that now twisted with rage against his grip. She fought like she was being dragged towards her death; he considered putting her out of her misery more than once, thinking maybe, just maybe he could find another way to help Granger. He moved from the sleeping quarters, across the dusty courtyard (amidst strange looks) and then between the two buildings. The woman never let up, moving viciously against him, going as far as trying to bloody <em>bite<em> her way free.

Each time Draco tried to speak, she would attack him, clawing with an animalistic fervor that scared him. He had seen many people fall apart over the course of his time in the Ministry, but this was…beyond anything he knew how to handle. Even Granger's meltdown several months before seemed tame in comparison. At first, he tried to ignore Lavender, dragging her as hard as he could, wincing as she strained against him.

_Bloody Bollocks! What kind of woman has this kind of strength?_

In the end, he let her go, giving her a rough shove backwards. Lavender, surprised, stumbled and fell, and as she scrambled along the ground to get away from him, Draco muttered a binding charm under his breath, and only then was she finally immobile, a mess of limbs and thick blond curls. Wand still in the air and pointed towards her, Draco knelt down. She reared back and spat at him, and it was hot and wet against his cheek.

"Take that, you loathsome fuck!"

Appalled at the way she defied him, Draco reached down and grabbed her chin – hard – until she whimpered, and tears of pain filled her blue eyes.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" he hissed, refusing to let go of her face, even as she began to struggle against her magical bonds.

"Or what are you going to do?" she mocked. "Kill me?"

He sneered.

"And what if I did? No one would care! Do you really think anyone would give a shit what happened to you?"

She gave him an odd sort of look, and then a smile that could have been a grimace. It never reached her eyes, which seemed incredibly empty and unseeing.

"You can't kill me!" she shot back, her voice rising in pitch. "You can't KILL ME!"

Still, she struggled.

"DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Her scream was now grating and whiny as tears ran down her face in torrents.

"I'm ALREADY DEAD!"

As she hurled out the last word, her voice thick with tears, Draco slapped her. It was a single, purposeful slap, and it rattled the woman who had clearly gone nutty. The silence was startling, and Draco's ears rang with the echoes of Lavender's shrieks. She stared back at him, blue eyes wide, and just as she opened her mouth again, he pointed his wand at her.

"Silencio."

Tears of anger filled her eyes, and after a moment she was exhausted and stopped struggling against her magical bonds.

"You stupid girl!" he hissed. "Don't you know what they could do to you here? Haven't you learned? Or are you that daft?"

Her eyes snapped at him with indignation, her face tense with a scowl.

"Have you ever wondered what you're doing here? Besides the obvious? And why you aren't dead yet, in spite of that disgusting, foul mouth and your sodding need to defy everyone around you? Huh?"

This time, Draco could sense the accusatory way her eyes bore into him.

"Zabini," he whispered. "It's because of him that you're here. Because he loves you, and that bloody child of yours, you hear? And if you keep acting like this, they'll kill you! You won't stand a chance here!"

Tears filled her eyes, and her face melted. Draco was strangely affected by the changes in her demeanor, in the way she slumped against the dust, the way her tears wet the ground, darkening the dry earth around her. The way her body silently shook with her sobs. The complete and utter heartbreak that touched every part of her.

"That's right," he continued, reaching down to help her sit up. Her face was bright where he had smacked her. "He asked me to protect you. And I can't do that if you fight me."

Lavender was still now, watching him with rounded, watery eyes, her breathing strangely hitched. Draco was crouched next to her.

"These people are heartless."

With each word, the next was even more difficult, and twice he had to stop, to clear his throat.

"They're unfeeling."

After all, he knew that from experience.

"They knew Zabini was sleeping with you, surely you know how it all works, yeah? Some of them take some pleasure in using and abusing Mudbloods, you understand."

The look on her face was a mixture of hatred and resentment. Draco ignored it, and continued.

"So long as there are no consequences, a man can get off and move on. But he got you pregnant."

He leaned in, wearing an intense expression.

"They'll kill your child. For them, it's as easy as erasing the consequences, or pretending they don't exist. Don't you see that? What he did is because he wanted to help you – to protect you and that baby!"

Tears of silent despair ran down her face and Draco groaned, and lifted his wand deciding he'd act now and be sorry later.

"Finite."

His whisper faded into the stillness, and miraculously, the fallen woman remained silent, though now he could hear her whimpered sobbing. He knelt down next to her after making sure that no one else was looking.

"So long as you don't make trouble for me, you're safe here, understand?"

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

"How…how is he? Do you speak to him?"

Then she began to cry in earnest.

"I miss him so much…"

* * *

><p>Hermione blinked, sitting up, watching Marcus Flint warily after he lifted the magical binding charm. He leered at her, but for a few moments after Draco had dragged rabid Lavender from the quarters, all was silent. She tried to appear calm as she stared back at Flint with defiance, not allowing him to see she was rattled. If that happened, then he would know he had control, and the last thing any of those officials needed was that sort of power.<p>

Hermione shuddered inwardly as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, hoping to appear fearless.

"Feisty one, aintcha?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I apologize."

Flint gave her a strange look, and then it changed once again to the same penetrating gaze, his dark eyes lingering along her breasts, and then her hips, and down to her toes. She could only guess at the disgusting things he might have been imagining, but it couldn't be helped.

"Do you, now?"

The question wasn't meant to be answered, and Hermione offered no response, tearing her eyes away from that lurid gaze. He reminded her too much of those others; Mulciber, who had tasted of dirt and ashes when he had forced a kiss on her so long ago in London, and Rookwood, who never touched her but would stare at her wantonly.

_Oh God, please don't let him hurt me!_

Flint gazed down on her thoughtfully.

"Wonder what I'm gonna do with you, then. Seems it's up to me to deal out the appropriate punishment, yeah?"

His eyes glittered like two gems at the thought, and Hermione struggled not to flinch. She watched him steadily as he moved around the cot without saying another word. She could only hope that he was in a good mood, and that keeping silent would avoid a severe punishment. Though she had long ago gotten used to the whitish scars that riddled her body from her last punishment at Pansy's hand, the marks from that incident burned now, as if they were fresh. Ghostly reminders of what might be in store for her.

_Please, be merciful._

Hermione almost said the words aloud, but knew that if she did, he would make the punishment that much worse.

After another bout of pacing, he stood in front of her, his beefy arms folded along his chest, his lower lip jutting out in consideration. A piece of lank hair had fallen across his face and he blew it out of his eyes with one breath.

"You're the one Mulciber was talking about."

The tone, just as his look, was suggestive, and Hermione swallowed under his lecherous gaze. For a moment she understood why a woman would offer herself to a man like Flint. Knowing what was coming, even if it was as vile as sex, was better than not knowing what he had planned. But, she kept silent, for even in the most desperate situation, Hermione couldn't imagine the burden of shame if she offered herself to yet another man.

"I hear rumors, you know. 'Bout you and Malfoy," he said with a grin that nearly made her wince. His teeth were crooked and yellowed with age, an unsightly gap separating his two front teeth.

"I hear he's been gettin' off with ya, he has."

Swallowing, Hermione lifted her chin, feeling the churning of fear and a sudden bout of disgust in her lower belly. She had promised Malfoy that what they shared behind closed doors did not exist in the real world – in Flint's world.

"I wouldn't sully myself that way," she seethed, and braced herself.

The slap, when it came, was sharp and unfeeling. Hermione's had snapped back and she gasped, her cheek flaming.

"Next time, don't say anything if you're going to insult one of us."

She stared back at him, a scowl on her face, but said nothing more.

"Up, then."

He motioned towards the door to the courtyard, and Hermione stood and followed with trepidation, closing her eyes against bitter tears. Already, that morning was far gone from her memories; the feeling of being in Malfoy's arms, that singular pleasure, had been replaced with disgust and fear.

She stumbled outside.

Flint's hair was thick, Hermione realized. And under the brilliant fall sunshine, it shone a strange shade of blue-black. He was all muscle and sinew; his uniform barely covering his large arms, and the sizable thighs. He was a veritable tank.

She swallowed, falling behind a little.

"Hurry it up, then!"

Now, his voice had taken on an irritable quality, and soon they had passed by the familiar courtyard and the kitchens and washrooms. They rounded the building where the Ministry had their offices, and then Hermione spied several other brick structures.

A strange cold seeped into her bones, and then she _knew._

_Dementors._

It was the same feeling that had inundated her the first night she had come here.

_Perhaps, today I die._

The thought was one that terrified her, for Hermione wanted to live, if only long enough to ensure Lily's safety. Then, well, they could do with her as they liked. She was so deep in panicked thoughts, she nearly ran into Flint's muscled back when he stopped and pointed.

"That's where I work."

He said the words with a measure of pride, as if it were a job of integrity. As Hermione stared at the row of cement buildings in the distance, she felt all the heat draining from her and her heart begin to gallop. She could feel Flint's eyes on her, but wasn't able to muster him a glance. All was silent, except the twittering of birds and the gentle rustling of the breeze. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his whisper against her ear, and smelled his rank breath.

"I could forgo the punishment, you know. If you…provided me with some incentive, gave me what you gave Malfoy."

His words held a wolf-like quality and Hermione was reminded of the year she had been on the run with Ron and Harry, and the way Fenrir and Scabior had stared at her like she was a-

She shuddered outwardly, taking a stumbling step back, her eyes wide. Flint saw her fear and hesitation as he ogled her, and a strange, slow smile spread across his face.

"Whaddya say, pet?"

Hermione grimaced.

"You'd better kill me first."

There was no mistaking her rejection of his advances, and even though Flint was as thick as two planks, two spots of surprised color bloomed on his cheeks.

"Stupid bitch," he hissed, shoving her forward.

Hermione bit back a yelp as she managed to stumble forward, but not fall. He shoved her again and there was nothing to do but move. She couldn't stall him, and she had nowhere else to go. As they neared the buildings, the cold seemed to penetrate everything – the air, her bones, even her heart. She felt like she was turning to ice.

"You might as well tell me the truth about Malfoy, pet."

The voice froze Hermione's blood.

"I'm gonna find out soon enough. He'll tell me. He tells me everything. Eventually, he'll bore of you, just like he bored of all the others, and then we'll have a good jolly laugh at your expense, we will!"

Hermione swallowed back her breakfast as Flint brayed like a donkey. Lies, she realized. They had to be lies, didn't they? Her heart beat in a weak, erratic rhythm within her as she stared at the buildings in horror.

"I-I'm not lying," she lied, trembling.

"You could give me a little bit of that sweetness, and I'd leave you well enough alone, doll. It's up to you."

When Hermione turned, he was gazing at her with triumph, his obsidian eyes glimmering hungrily.

"No."

Her words were sure.

"Well then, it's to the Dementors, I suppose," he said with a shrug and an exaggerated sigh, though she had clearly irritated him with her second rejection.

Then, he gave her a shove that caused Hermione to cry out and stumble along the small hill that led to the brick buildings. As they neared, she wondered if the cold seeping into her whole body, her heart, her soul – was due to the Dementors or her palpable fear.

It could have been either.

A large metal door stood in the center of the long building and Flint pulled it open with a yank, revealing darkness within.

* * *

><p>Lavender eyed Malfoy with distaste, cradling a small bowl of hot soup to her chest, the spoon clutched tightly in her hand. Though she refused to believe that there were no ulterior motives to what he had told her, she had to admit that the soup and bread were the first hot meal she had eaten since her arrival at the alienage, and no one else had been given the same. Indeed, he had led her to a small, unmarked room in the back of the building that housed the Ministry offices. Here, he had given her the food and had watched in stern silence as she ate. She would take bites and look at him in between, with a strange, distrustful expression.<p>

And Blaise…

Lavender wasn't sure if believing what Malfoy had told her would only get her hopes up to be dashed once again into thousands of painful pieces. After all, what did she really have to expect from the Ministry after the cruel way she had been treated and what they had reduced her to? But the idea of Blaise still caring, doing what he had done for her in an effort to protect her, was incredibly enticing. She took a moment to close her eyes and then indulged in the fantasy that he did love her, that he hadn't abandoned her, but led her here, to Malfoy, because he wanted to keep her safe. It filled Lavender with warmth she hadn't felt in months.

When the soup was finished, she spoke hesitantly.

"You saw him?"

She pictured his caramel skin, the blackness of his eyes, the angular chin, and especially the blinding smile that had made everything in her world all right. Just to see him again…

Her heart had stopped its shallow beat for a split second.

"I did."

Malfoy's voice was soft and she let out the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding.

"And he's…he's doing well?"

Lavender couldn't keep the tremble out of her tone, the pleading weakness when it came to Blaise Zabini. But, though she expected ridicule and mocking on Malfoy's part, he remained stoic.

"He's well. And, so is your daughter. You have to trust him. It's the only way."

Lavender felt the sobs rock her body.

* * *

><p>The rooms were wide, set apart by thick, gray, cement walls. There was nothing in these rooms that Hermione could see in the dim lighting. And it was so bloody cold her teeth chattered, the sound like the clatter of wasted bones. Her whole body had begun to tremble with the cold just by walking down the vast, empty hallway.<p>

"They're in the basement."

Flint's voice echoed off the blank walls, carrying across the strange, hollow space.

"Funny things, Dementors. I never knew until I started working for the Ministry. Back at school all that stuff seemed so boring."

Hermione wondered at his strange, conversational tone, as if he were talking about something mundane instead of taking people's lives. He stopped by another door, and turned around, his eyes glittering in the dim lighting.

"Trainable too," he continued. "You can get'em to do whatever you want, so long as you know how."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"H-how?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pet?"

Then he offered another grating, donkey-like laugh.

She watched as Flint pushed open the door and entered a room. Here it was still cold, but considerably warmer than in that strange, empty hallway behind them. Now, Hermione could hear a strange buzzing, which got clearer as they moved through the room to another door. When he pushed that open, Hermione knew.

_Oh, Gods! People – people here? What's he doing? What am I doing here?_

She swallowed her panic, feeling it grow by leaps and bounds and she began having trouble swallowing past the huge lump in her too dry throat.

"We've been experimenting," he called over his shoulder lightly. "Just to see what happens, you know. Loads of Mudbloods have come through here; they're good for something, at least. Children, too. It's different with children, or so they say. I don't know."

Hermione stopped, unable to move further, her hand coming up to cover her mouth and stifle the strange sound in her throat. When he turned, his face was a mask of amusement.

"I suppose we'll have to keep experimenting to know for sure, yeah?"

She knew why he was saying those words, and how clearly he was affecting her, but Hermione couldn't help her disgust and disbelief, which only served to widen the sodding smile on his face.

"Though we've had to put them to good use lately, what with all those resistance movements going on. Have you heard about those?"

His eyes were narrowed slightly as Hermione thought for a moment. No, of course not. She hadn't heard anything because she had been so busy with Draco Malfoy and worrying about Lily…

"Have I heard about what?"

"Those freedom fighting groups," he replied in a bored tone. "Took about a dozen or so out the last few weeks, we have. They get caught, and they're brought here. For the Dementors, I mean. Bloody nutters, the lot of them, fighting for Mudblood rights."

He stopped and from behind the door the din of the whispering grew the loudest.

"They call themselves 'wizards against blood status' or something like that," he replied dismissively. "Causin' trouble 'round these parts. I heard they caused a rebellion earlier this week, though we got the lot of them. Dementors will be busy, sure."

Hermione watched her eyes wide and her mind whirling.

Resistance? Rebellion? Something stirred within her, churning up long dead hope in her heart, though she willed herself not to think on it too much. After all, what could one or two wizards and witches do? Especially since it seemed like the Ministry had put a stop to anything that might have come from it.

_But, there will always be more, won't there? That's how it is in war. There are always two sides._

She thought suddenly of Seamus, and the message he had given her for Justin. She thought of Dean and of Percy and…

_I have to talk to Justin!_

The thought pierced her consciousness just as something hard and cold was thrust into her hand. Hermione glanced down, startled. She was holding a wand, and her hand trembled. It had been years since the last time she had been allowed to touch a wand; hers had been taken from her shortly after Harry's death. All Muggle-borns had lost their wands. But this…

It didn't _feel_ right, she realized. It didn't sing in her hand like her own wand, and the wood didn't quite belong in her fingers, even as she managed to wrap them around it.

When Hermione looked up in shock, Flint gave her a smirk, his black eyes gleaming.

"What's this?" she whispered, offering it back to him, palm up. Flint shook his head.

"Your punishment," he nearly sang, and then pushed open the last door. Beyond it, Hermione saw roomfuls of people, jammed together in tiny spaces, their faces a blur of fear and misery. "They're like you. Filthy Mudbloods. When's the last time you practiced your Unforgivables, pet?" he asked with a wink. "I think it's poetic. One of their own, turning on them."

He laughed.

Hermione gasped, staring in horror, tears blurring her vision, coming hard and fast as she dropped the wand with a loud clatter. She lost all semblance of calm when she realized what he was aiming her to do.

"No," she choked out.

Flint's braying laughter echoed around the room.

"Not much choice, love. Get in there."

* * *

><p>Lavender struggled between hate and gratefulness as she stared at Malfoy. She would never forget that night at the club in Paddington, the way Malfoy had laughed and sneered at her situation, offering no sympathy, not a shred of hope or even understanding. He had looked at her like trash, something to degrade and then kick aside. He hadn't even listened when she had begged him-<p>

_I won't think on it. The past is over, and nothing can be changed. I was a fool to believe in anyone. I still am._

But then, there was this. This side of him that Hermione Granger had brought out, and for a moment, Lavender felt a rush of understanding. She didn't have to speak to him to know that part of his reason for being there, right now, was due to Hermione. And she wasn't jealous, not the way she had been with Ron. No, not jealousy, but resentment played a strange harmony within her, clashing with the bouts of sympathy she was feeling for a man she loathed.

"I promised him I'd make sure you were safe. And you will be. This is my alienage, and they can't hurt you so long as I'm in charge."

The words were empty to Lavender and she couldn't help the strange snort of disbelief that issued from her as she tightened her grip on her knees. She had taken to the corner of the small windowless room, curling up as tightly as she could muster.

"Forgive me, if I don't believe you."

The words were a hiss, and she felt hot tears building up behind her eyes. She heard Malfoy's voice, irritated and a shade angry.

"You really are one of the most ungrateful little shites-"

Her head snapped up, her blue eyes blazing.

"Marcus Flint raped me my first week here! I might be a whore, but it's only because I needed the money! What they – _your kind_ – don't understand is that a woman isn't a possession, Malfoy! I'm a human being and he used me for his own disgusting pleasure! Here, in this place, that you say is safe!"

The look on Malfoy's face was one of uncertainty, and her outburst had silenced him, and any words he may have said. With a sniff, Lavender dropped her head once more.

"So let me be, Malfoy. I'll never be safe anywhere. I'll never be the way I was. Just go. Tell Blaise I'll be fine on my own," she finished bitterly, her voice tight with unshed tears.

He stood, unable to move.

"Flint raped you?"

There was disgust in those words, in the inflection. Lavender looked up, and finally the tears came, rolling down her pale face.

"That surprises you, Malfoy? Do you expect more from him? From any of them?" she scoffed. "You said yourself that they're capable of anything! Do you truly think they're below taking what they want from a woman without her consent?"

Her voice was broken and sad.

"Flint's not even the worst of them! That…that werewolf, Fenrir…"

She shuddered and fell silent, the tears choking any possibility of words. She began to rock back and forth on her heels, her face in between her legs.

"They're all horrid, every one of them," she whispered over and over.

It could have been minutes or hours before she felt his sure grip on her shoulder, and when Lavender looked up, his face was hard with determination.

"I won't let it happen again," he ground out, his lips pressed in a thin, white line.

"Why?" she spat hatefully. "What's in it for you, _Death Eater?"_

Her words were taunting, mocking him, and causing him to lose some of his well placed control. Lavender struggled to her feet, tripping over her long skirt for a moment as she found her footing.

"Don't bother if it's because of Hermione Granger. We weren't friends. She doesn't care what happens to me."

As she spoke, she took vicious swipes at the still falling tears. She saw his face pale.

"It's not because of Granger!"

"You can lie until the day is old, Malfoy," she hissed. "But I know that look. I know it because I saw it for months and months before Blaise-"

There was still fight left in him, she could see it. He was struggling with some unspoken emotion, something he wasn't ready to deal with. It made her sick.

"He _raped _me," she repeated slowly, her words harsh whispers. "And she's alone with him now."

The silence was deafening, and Lavender waited for the confirmation of what she already knew. His ashen face changed and then panic flickered in the depths of his eyes.

He fled from the room, without looking back.

She sank down onto the ground, and wept.


	25. Chapter 25

_This for some reason was tough. I have it the way I want it – but I don't know. You'll have to let me know what you all think. Thanks for the constant support guys! In this installment, Hermione is terrorized by Marcus Flint, and Draco realizes something important. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p>Draco ran. It was an odd thought, but he began to consider the last time anything required him to move as fast as he was moving now. In the end, he couldn't remember a one. His heart seemed too big for his chest, hammering inside of him like a bass drum, steadily, steadily. Luckily, the alienage was not crowded that time of day, and he sprinted around the circumference of the building where he had left Lavender, and then along the fringes of the courtyard, behind the sleeping quarters and through the door.<p>

Out of breath, he stood, his ears ringing.

The room was completely empty save for the shadows. Catching his breath, Draco wasted no time whirling around and then dashing across the courtyard in the opposite direction he had come, cursing Flint under his breath.

Control, he needed to maintain control. No one could know the sheer panic he felt.

He rounded a corner.

Draco barreled directly into her a split second before he realized she was there, and he found himself surprised because Bellatrix Lestrange never visited the alienages. She hardly ever left Ministry grounds, in fact. He didn't have time to ponder over her reasons for visiting that day, but found it rather inconvenient. Precious seconds were slipping through his fingers, after all. He tried breathing over the erratic beating of his heart.

"Nephew."

Bellatrix drawled the word, giving him a cold smirk, her dark eyes surveying him for a silent moment before she continued. "Going somewhere in a hurry?"

Draco wondered for a brief second if she somehow knew what he was feeling, and how badly he needed to be on his way, and was simply taking her time to cause him as much pain as possible. She was good at things like that – torture, inflicting pain…irritating-

"Flint…an issue with Flint."

The words were breathless, and for the first time Draco did not play to his aunt's whims, instead, pushing her out of his way. She could try and stop him, but he could still fight back.

She stepped directly into his path, her dark eyes boring into his, making it clear who was in charge. And he knew, however unfortunate, that she was clearly the one in charge.

She spoke, her tone no nonsense.

"Let someone else handle it, Draco. I must meet with you and Pansy about the missive I sent this morning. The resistance movement is becoming a rather pesky problem. Surely you've heard others make mention of it? They call themselves Wizards' Equal Rights Alliance. Frightening really, what a group of Muggle-born sympathizers can do when they get together. Last night they killed one of the officials on duty on the western side of the city. And these are half-bloods! Traitors to the cause. It's vile!"

The words gave Draco pause, and he hesitated for a second.

"At Zabini's alienage?"

"Yes, they had orchestrated some escape attempt, but it went awry. One of our own was a casualty, but luckily we got the lot of them. They're waiting for the Dementors. I told them not to even bother with Azkaban, just get rid of them now."

Draco swallowed back the irritation he felt, though his eyes flashed impatiently in her direction, which made Bellatrix laugh, although it was rather cruel in delivery.

"This issue with Flint, whatever it is, must be pressing?"

"Quite," he managed to say, trying to get away again.

This time she stopped him.

"Shall we meet in Pansy Parkinson's office?"

Draco felt himself impossibly torn. On one hand, if he defied the Ministry, pushed aside Bellatrix's orders, he knew they'd question him. But if he wasted another minute – another second – away from Flint and Granger-

"I can't put this on someone else."

The words were firm and he moved away from Bellatrix, who now wore a look of mild interest and confusion.

"I can't imagine why. Especially since the latter issue is less important that the one with the recent rebellions and the resistance movement."

Once more, Draco felt himself hesitating, and finally Bellatrix rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Fine! Let's get this over with, then. I'm sure he's just down there in the rows," she said pointing to the line of brick buildings at the bottom of the gently sloped hill. "I'll help you sort this out and then we can have our meeting."

Draco panicked.

"I'm quite able to handle this myself!" he called out in a firm voice, hoping to dissuade her, but she motioned him once more, and moved quickly towards the buildings, her long black robes billowing out behind her in the fall afternoon breeze.

"Wait!" he called after her, and then broke into a sprint.

* * *

><p>Hermione was living a nightmare, but her eyes were wide open. She had long ago lost sensation in her hands and feet – the bitter cold had completely permeated them. Somehow, her fingers still clutched Flint's wand, and her dry lips muttered curses at his command, tears spilling from her eyes and burning down her cheeks.<p>

As her eyes closed against the view before her, she wondered what choice she really had; what choice did any of them have?

Never before could Hermione recall using any of the Unforgivables, but in the last span of moments she had rendered the cruelest of punishments on the poor and helpless people locked in the tiny rooms. Flint was walking down the vast hallway, expertly ignoring the whimpers and cries from his left. Hermione, on the other hand, found herself feeling each and every cry, every whisper, and every plea that fell from the lips of the trapped. Somehow those voices were more poignant and sharply broke into the veil of her conscience, sitting heavily on her heart, becoming a more painful burden as each second slipped by her.

They were screaming in pain, and shrieking in fear as those around them fell dead. When Hermione could not utter the curses fast enough, Flint would do it for her, killing one, two, four, ten, without hesitation. Without remorse.

The only saving grace was that he hadn't yet forced her to kill anyone, simply relishing the fact that he could easily make her torture anyone he wished.

She wept.

He smacked her for it.

Still, the tears refused to cease, and Hermione clutched herself tightly, shaking her head against the assault on her senses. Taste, touch, sound – each of them was inundated with terror, so that she nearly crumbled beneath the burden.

"Hurry!" Flint called to her easily, motioning towards another door on the far side of the hallway, and the walk she made seemed like it lasted an eternity, though this eternity echoed with the sounds of the damned and forgotten; people just like she was.

* * *

><p>Draco realized almost immediately that Bellatrix had no intentions of stopping and he was fearful that when she found Flint and Granger in the row, she would finish her off as well. After all, who was Hermione Granger anyway? Who cared about her? Who cared what happened to her except for those others who meant nothing now?<p>

No one would even know she had died today. No one would search for her; she would die and be forgotten.

_You care for her._

Yes, yes, he did.

And so with that in mind, he gripped his wand.

"Aunt Bella!" he called, hoping that his voice would surprise her enough to give her pause; Draco never used such a voice with her.

He was lucky, for the sweet quality in his tone caused her to stop and turn, her brows furrowing.

"Nephew?"

"Obliviate!"

Her dark eyes, harsh and unfeeling, suddenly took on a strange, vacant glaze, and she blinked, looking around. The expression on her face was of a peculiar distracted quality, as if she had found herself in a new place and without direction. Draco moved forward quickly, clutching her thin, upper arm and then pulling her toward the brick row buildings.

"Stupefy," he whispered, and she fell in a heap of black robes and unruly black curls.

Once she was docile, he lifted her easily and began setting up a tableau, placing her body in the direction of the building, so that it seemed as if she had fallen faint on her way to check on Flint's progress. He studied his work critically twice and arranged her arms once again, realizing he couldn't waste much more time.

It would have to do; it was suspicious, but it would have to do. Turning, he ran towards the metal doors.

* * *

><p>Flint finally stopped moving in the last room, turning on Hermione, his eyes gleaming.<p>

"The ones over there die."

Still gripping the wand in her sweaty hand, Hermione's eyes moved from Flint to the small group of men locked in a metal cage, as if they were animals. None of them spoke; none of them even looked up to acknowledge her.

"Go on, don't waste my time, pet. You've done well so far!"

Hermione's eyes burned with shame and she could hardly breathe over the agony of what she had already done – it pressed against her heart so that she thought she would be crushed beneath it. She had been here too long, she had uttered too many horrible things already, but to actually – he wouldn't actually force her to –

She whimpered, and then the tears came, unbidden.

"Like this," he said rolling his eyes. "It's not hard, pet. Just point and…Avada Kedavra!"

The closest one to them, a small black man with long, stringy hair fell dead, slumping against the back wall and sliding to a stop on the floor, lifeless. Hermione closed her eyes against the gruesome image, gasping in shock. Her hands came up to cover her face, but Flint yanked one of them down and forced her fingers closed around his wand once more.

"Don't all you Mudbloods want your wands back?" he wondered with a sneer. "Here's your chance, then. No holds barred. Do it, kill them. What's it matter, pet? They're just a bunch of stupid rebels!"

His words seemed to grow in manic caliber, and Hermione trembled visibly, shaking her head, her fingers opening and the wand clattering to the floor.

"I-

Could he really do this? She was already too dizzy and weak with emotion, and the thought of having to _kill_ someone frightened her so badly that-

_Let me pass out! Let me pass out and never awaken again if this is what I must do!_

She wondered if there was anyone else around. She wondered where Malfoy had gone, and a part of her hated him in that second. Hated him and all those just like him-

Flint reached over, to touch her cheek with the back of his hand in a gesture which sickened her. But Hermione had no strength left to pull away from him, for she was rooted to the spot.

"Or perhaps you've changed your mind, love? Care for a shag? I'll forget all this…nasty business, yeah?"

He took a step closer and Hermione winced, trying to move away from the roughness and heat of his palm.

"What?"

He pouted.

"Am I not good enough for you, Mudblood? You'd rather be fucking someone else? Malfoy, perhaps?"

Hermione stood still, saying nothing.

"Poor deluded little bitch," he whispered. "You think he cares for you?"

Still, she did not move, swallowing only to keep from choking.

_I won't say anything. I won't say anything. I won't say-_

She closed her eyes tightly, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"You know what happens to girls like you?"

His voice held a sibilant quality, and Hermione felt his fingers clamp around her wrist – hard, and she found herself dragged back into the room of nightmares, where she could still hear the whispers and moans of those alive, and the cries of terror that Flint drew just by his very presence. Up until that moment, Hermione had not realized how horrible Marcus Flint truly was. She had been too focused on the others, too focused on Malfoy, too-

"They end up here."

He shoved her towards the rooms where the prisoners awaited their deaths.

"Open your eyes and look, Mudblood. Look where you'll end up when he's done with you. When you're no good anymore, to anyone, not even good for a decent shag."

Hermione began to shudder as her eyes opened and her vision was blurred by helpless tears.

"Take your chance now, bitch. At least someone still wants you. Malfoy doesn't. He'll tire of you soon, you'll see."

His two large hands pressed heavily into Hermione's shoulders as he turned her towards the next, barred room.

"She the one in the corner?" he whispered against her ear. "She was like you. Thinking anyone here had a shred of sympathy for her. Selling her body in exchange for mercy. She thought I actually gave a fuck about her, pet!"

His laugh was soft, less annoying, but no less frightening. Hermione blinked away her watery veil to see a pale, young girl crouching in the corner. Just then, as if she knew what Flint was whispering about, her dark eyes turned up and met Hermione's, and there was vivid heartbreak painted there. For a moment, the whole world stopped.

_That could be me!_

But, what choice had she been given? What could she have offered if not herself? And Malfoy-

In his arms, she hadn't felt like a whore. She had felt right, as if he wanted her. As if he…

_Flint's right. What's to say he cares? If he cared, wouldn't I have known it years ago in school? Wouldn't things have been different for me? If he cared, I wouldn't be where I am. Could he even care about a woman like me? _

Tears seared Hermione's eyes for a split second, and then slipped down her cheeks, hot against the cool skin there. She had indulged too much in her fantasy, she realized. In that silly little fancy that Malfoy might care for her, even though the world said it wasn't right.

Flint was whispering those horrid things in her ear once more.

"I know you heard about the one that hung herself, didn't you? It was quite flattering, really. Poor, deluded girl. Just like that one," he said pointing to the poor soul who was watching them, terrified.

"What do you say, pet? Make yourself useful, yeah? I know you're not stupid, and this could be good between us…for awhile."

Shuddering once more, Hermione turned on him, plucking up a moment of courage which she took full advantage of. She simply refused to let him see her as completely helpless.

"I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on this earth, and you told me you'd kill me if I didn't!"

The words harsh and her eyes narrowed menacingly.

"He's five times the man you are, no matter what you say!"

Her defense of Malfoy surprised even Hermione herself. She watched as Flint's face lost all color, then turned red, and then ashen.

"Is he?"

The words embodied a nasty quality that made Hermione go cold in fear.

"He's a coward who is too afraid to admit how he really feels about a filthy whore like you," he hissed. "But I'm not, and maybe you'll have to make that choice, bitch. Me or your death."

He lifted his wand, and Hermione felt a surge of triumph at his obvious tremble. She wondered if he'd do it, or if he'd show himself the coward that she believed all of them were. She had no illusions of the fact that Malfoy cowered in fear just like any other man; she had seen it in school, she had seen it even here, at the alienage. But, she no longer blamed him. After all, he had offered her kindness in a world without any, no matter his status and who he was and whom he served. And somehow, Hermione believed that if it were Malfoy in Flint's place, none of that horrific afternoon would have come to pass.

"Do it. It's like you said, no one would care anyway."

Hermione stood up straight, staring Flint into his hardened, ugly face.

But before he could, from behind them a crash sounded, the door at the far end of the hallway blowing open unceremoniously.

Hermione and Flint both turned, and she nearly moaned with relief. The sight of Draco Malfoy had never seemed more of a saving grace than it did in that moment.

"Flint! Look at this fucking mess! What in Merlin's name are you doing in here?"

The words were harsh and left no room for argument, or even defense, and Flint stepped back, his wand dropping.

"We were just-"

"Save me your excuses. I need your help. Lestrange is here, and she's fallen ill. We should take her to the infirmary as soon as possible. Leave the mess; you can deal with it afterwards."

Flint blinked and Hermione saw Malfoy's pale face flood with color born of rage.

"MOVE! We don't pay you to sodding stand around! Don't waste my bloody time, Flint!"

Hermione willed Draco to look at her, but he did not, instead whirling around, his posture stiff, and stalking out of the room. Wordlessly and wearing a scowl, Flint followed.

Hermione was left alone with those others – the living amongst the dead, the scared, hopeless, and forsaken. She lowered her head, not sure if she could even move. Every whimper made her wince, and every whispered word or plea made her want to jump out of her skin. In some ways, being left behind to face the mess that had been caused by her hand was even worse than-

_No! I won't think that way! I wouldn't have, if he hadn__'t forced me! I'm not like those officials, and I never will be!_

When she did finally look up after what had seemed like millennia, the poor girl that Flint had drawn attention to was still watching Hermione closely with those dark, mournful eyes.

"I'm-I'm so sorry. So…so sorry…a-all of you…I just-I-"

Her words seemed to make no difference and earned her no attention, so finally Hermione turned and fled down the hallway after the two men, wanting nothing more than to get away or wake up from her living nightmare.

Then sun shone brilliantly in a pale blue sky when she barreled out of the building into the small yard in front of it. No one was there, either. All was still, for the rows were further away from the alienage and the life that went on there. Here, she was alone, and finally Hermione was able to take a full breath, though she still trembled and her heart raced like that of a scared kitten's. Fearing that her knees were so weak that they would refuse to hold her up, Hermione dashed towards the wall of the closest building and leaned against it, sliding down the rough brick exterior until she was sitting in the sun warmed dust. A few breaths later, and she felt better. She wasn't sure how many minutes had passed by as she sat there, breathing deeply, her eyes half-closed.

_I'm all right. I'm going to be all right._

An unemotional peace settled upon Hermione; in that moment she felt and heard nothing at all. She simply was. The placid feeling was shattered by the sound of running footsteps and Hermione's eyes snapped open, he body tensing for confrontation, just as Malfoy rushed down the gentle sloped hill towards the row buildings.

He hadn't seen her, and she found herself staring at the expression on his face. He looked positively panicked, his gray eyes wide with fear, and his face devoid of color. She could see the rigidity with which he had set his jaw. His fingers slipped once, twice on the door handle before he yanked it open with too much force, causing it to slam against the brick frame.

"Granger!"

Even his voice sounded choked and carried a tense tremble.

Hermione got to her feet, struggling to find her voice, to give it enough strength in reply. He was looking for her!

_Me! He's panicked this way because of me? _

Flint's nasty words seemed to cut into Hermione's hopes, trying to poke holes the in fragile trust that she had in Malfoy.

Did she dare hope that he cared?

_He must! Oh, he must!_

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she brushed them away, moving out of the shadows and towards him.

"I'm here," she choked out, her response emotional as she gazed on him.

He turned slowly, gasping and she saw the flicker of surprise in those deep silver eyes, and his face melted into one of sheer relief.

"Merlin on high," he muttered and Hermione decided in that moment that she had to hold onto this man; come hell or high water. She needed him.

Malfoy's touch was firm, but gentle, as his eyes surveyed her face, her body with concern before he spoke.

"Did he hurt you?"

His words were whispered and Hermione shook her head.

"I'm fine," she replied, not wanting to share what had happened with Flint, not certain she could speak of it even if he had asked.

Instead, she flung herself into the comfort of his strong arms, breathing in the familiar scent of his morning soap and the cigarettes he sometimes smoked. His Ministry jacket smelled of the fall air, earth and musk, and she breathed him in for a few moments, feeling the way his fingers curled around her neck and twisted into the confines of her long, curly hair. At first, his embrace was uncertain and he stood in the circle of her arms stiffly, but finally he let out a breath of air, and melted into her.

They were like that for an innumerable amount of time, and Hermione wished that whatever it was she felt when his arms were around her would never end. She wished for an endless moment where she could take time and hold it in the palm of her hand so that she could have those particular seconds for all time.

"I'm sorry."

The apologies came easier for him now, Hermione realized. Saying sorry had been impossible for him – at least the Malfoy she had known before. But the man in her arms now was inexplicably different.

"I'm sorry."

His words were soft as he breathed them against her hair, and then she felt the warm touch of his lips to her forehead in a tender moment that caused tears to spring up into her eyes.

"It was Lavender; I didn't know he would- what he had done to her- to everyone. I tried to get here when I could, but then Bellatrix-"

He stopped, and she gazed up into his face, seeing the look of helplessness there. Reaching up, Hermione couldn't help the way the back of her hand ran along the firmness of his jaw, her fingers tracing his lips.

"He didn't hurt me. You came just in time."

Hermione felt a stirring within her heart, a strange, melting feeling which she was afraid of, and one that she couldn't believe she was experiencing.

_Bloody hell, I care about this man, don't I? It's not just-_

Sighing, she shook her head.

"You know you can't protect me forever," she reminded, and she searched Draco's eyes.

His face confirmed what she already knew; it would be a waste to hope that he could prove her statement false.

"Maybe not from the mess this world has become," he replied tersely. "But from a bastard like Marcus Flint, I can. And from Pansy Parkinson, I can. I swear I'll do what I can to get Lily out of this place and out of London so she's safe. And I'll make sure Flint and Pansy won't hurt you."

His jaw was set, and his face of the utmost seriousness, as he gently pushed a stray chestnut curl away from her face. His words seemed uttered like a prayer; in complete faith and perfect belief. Hermione could hardly believe that in a world that had given her nothing but insurmountable obstacles, it was the enemy with whom she found some relief. And she wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. She cared for him.

An icy leaden feeling churned within the pity of her belly, as Flint's whispered reminders worked to eat away at the trust Hermione wanted to feel. None of Draco's assurances seemed to help the acidic words as they echoed in her mind over and over again. Nothing, not even wrapping her arms around Malfoy, quelled the alien, cold feeling that lapped at the edges of her consciousness.

_Flint is wrong!_

Hermione held fast to Draco, her fingers splayed along the firmness of his back, refusing to let go, even when he tried to gently pry her away.

"What did he tell you, Granger?"

The question made her shudder, but she refused a reply, shaking her head mutely. She could only see the faces of those poor people, damned simply because of their blood status. She could only hear their cries and moans for mercy, and try as she might, she couldn't shake the image of the dark haired girl out of her mind's eye. And even though she tried to banish the thoughts, she could still feel the heaviness of Flint's wand within her own grasp.

Though Hermione tried to keep him from pulling away, Draco was much stronger than she, and he managed to tip her chin up so he could look into her face.

"You're not telling me something," he said, his eyes narrowing. "What is it? If it's Flint, tell me. You can trust me."

_Can I? Can I, really? Or is Flint right?_

Her heart thundered with her indecision. In the end, Hermione opted to remain silent, resting her head against Draco's chest where she could hear the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. It seemed safest, and she didn't want to let him go, to relinquish the comfort she so easily found in the circle of his arms. Even if he didn't love her. Even if he would be gone from her life as soon as Lily was safe. She didn't want to think of that, but she would face that, too, when the time came.

Hermione felt him sigh, his fingers lingering in her hair, and then she let herself melt against him completely.

* * *

><p>She shifted in his arms, sighing almost inaudibly and Draco found himself glad that none of the others had yet questioned him about what he was doing with Hermione Granger. Now that she was safe again, and Flint had been deterred, he had begun to consider his actions. And lack thereof. And the fact that he had taken more risks than he thought he was willing to in an effort to keep her safe.<p>

Why?

He had no explanations to offer, let alone to give to anyone else, and so…yes, he was glad that they had left him alone thus far. Even if they had asked, Draco wasn't sure what he would _say._ He didn't understand his own feelings when it came to Granger. He was getting used to the heady feeling of unrest in the pit of his stomach whenever she was near. He had started to anticipate the feeling of being lost in her when she kissed him. But, those things were physical, weren't they? Borne of lack of physical intimacy, and nothing more, right?

Biting his lip, he realized he was heading down a path that would lead nowhere good, for when he began to think on his predicament, she was the only distraction; the oblivion he found in her embrace was the only cure for his unrest.

Stroking the softness of her honeyed, brown curls, he began to hope that she wouldn't look up at him, for it was those cinnamon colored eyes that-

She turned her face up, gazing at him, her expression peaceful. He was reminded of the war-torn expressions of those he had come in contact with over the years. The way the war had eaten away at their emotions, wrecked havoc on their minds and bodies, leaving behind colorless, expressionless people it its wake. Not so with Hermione, Draco realized. There was still life within those eyes, a light burning deep within. He had been taken by those eyes a long time ago, he realized. War had not beaten her down. He knew she had convinced herself that there was no hope, but something inside of her stubbornly refused to believe that, and it showed.

She gave him hope, for Merlin's sake!

She gave him light.

She was beautiful.

He felt his heart plummeting when she let him go, pulling away and dropping her eyes.

"I should…go. I have kitchen duty tonight. With Ginny, and I…I need to see…Justin."

Her words were muffled and soft. And when she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Thank you," came her whisper, and for a moment she hesitated, as if she would say something more, and Draco felt himself longing for a touch, a kiss.

And then wondering what the hell was happening to him!

_She walks away from me? It should be the other way around, shouldn't it? What is wrong with me? _

She hurried away from him, the thick, unruly waves of that long, curly hair shining fantastically in the sunlight, mesmerizing him for a moment before Draco took after her, not even sure what he was doing.

"Granger, wait!"

Well, it wasn't like…he had much else to do, right? And…it was his alienage, so he chose who stayed and who went. And it wasn't like anyone would notice she was missing, was it?

"Look, I-"

Was it really happening? What the bloody hell was he supposed to ask her? To go to tea? For an afternoon at the cinema?

_So, Hermione, we should have a chat sometime over coffee. I could make us some brekkie, yeah? With you, it's always a jolly chat, isn't it? _

He winced. Was he really wanting to spend _time_ with her? Good God.

_I'm officially mental. _

She was watching him, her expression strange. He wondered if she it were possible for her to look more beautiful than she did right then.

"I thought maybe if you…had time, you could-"

He sighed. It was impossible. Unacceptable. Wrong, on so many basic levels.

"I don't think you finished the bathrooms the other day."

His voice was hoarse, pulled over his emotions tightly, although he wasn't quite able to hide the tremble in his voice, or look her directly in the eye.

"The bathrooms?"

Her echo held remnants of disappointment. He cleared his throat a bit too enthusiastically.

"Last time I checked, you were still scrubbing my toilets, Granger," he muttered gruffly, his head down.

The silence that followed was deeply awkward, and he felt Granger staring at him, though he refused to meet her eyes.

"I don't…understand. You want me to come…today? Tonight? Is it…?"

He glared up at her, his face pink. His façade broke for a moment, his words heated.

"Isn't it better when we're together?" he snapped, hating that he felt…_hurt_ by her strange reaction. "Or is it just a shag to you?"

He began to walk briskly towards the alienage, knowing she was behind him, but not checking to make sure. Draco didn't understand himself, and he certainly had never understood women. _Especially _a woman like Granger, in a world like they lived in, where there were new rules. And, sometimes no rules at all. But, he understood the feeling of hurt, and of feeling like his own emotions were unrequited. Or, at least, that's what it seemed like.

_I'm pathetic. I'm a married man reaching out for comfort from a Mudblood who could give two shites about me. Clearly, so long as I help her Lily, she'll shag me until the day is done. But, if I so much as try and offer her company just because I'd like to see her, to talk to her, she-_

Granger didn't understand. Clearing his throat, he stood up straight, forcing a passive expression on his features. He stopped on the outskirts of the main courtyard.

"You'll be coming with me this evening, Granger. For my pleasure."

He hated making it sound so…disgusting, but, at least he knew she would agree. At least, she couldn't say no. He had tried…wanted…something else, but she-

No matter.

"You'll meet me here at sundown. Don't be late."

He didn't even spare her a glance, wondering if the quiet moments they had just shared had actually been real. Sometimes, he thought he was living the most terrifying nightmare of his life. And Granger was the only thing giving him direction.

Draco wondered when her body would stop being enough. He was afraid that he had already gotten in too deep.


	26. Chapter 26

_You guys have indulged me in the past on other plot development – so I'm asking you to bear with me once more. In this installment Hermione passes on Seamus' message, and Ginny learns what Hermione has been doing to help Lily. Not exactly exciting stuff, but it helps further my epic plot. ;)__ To all my reviewers, thank you. To all those whom I can't reply to personally – I really appreciate your support! I appreciate all the latest alerts and faves - if you love it, drop me a note! I'd love to hear from all of you. Oh, and Kingsley Shacklebolt's quote is from Potterwatch, found in DH – not mine. _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX<p>

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><p><em>One day later<em>

* * *

><p>Hermione blinked, barely able to keep her eyes open. Nightmares had plagued her all night, full of vivid cries for help and the helplessness of those nameless faces behind bars in the horrid row building. Even long after she had opened her eyes and struggled to make it through another day, she could hear the echoes of her own voice, the way she had pointed the wand at those poor innocents-<p>

_Stop it, Hermione!_

Not even spending the afternoon in Kensington, a place she had started to associate with peace and a respite from her harsh reality, had made things better. Instead, she had sat through a silent afternoon, hardly able to even look Draco in the face. And when he had reached out, his hand covering hers gently, she hadn't responded. For the first time, the touch of his mouth against hers had stirred nothing within her. But, she had allowed him to take his comfort in her; she had wrapped her arms around him, welcoming the weight of his body against hers, as he had whispered unintelligible words into the heat of her neck in between the softest of kisses.

Hermione had heard none of his words. She had thought he would be angry, that she hadn't performed to the standards she had promised; but, he hadn't been. She was glad for it, but he hadn't been able to offer her any comfort either. At least, he still wanted her for now. For now. But, not forever, she knew. And that part frightened her more than anything else.

And so, she had dealt with her inner nightmares and fear of what the future would bring in silence, brooding for hours before Draco had given up and brought her back to the alienage.

Then, had come the night. Too dark and cold to be comfortable, all those around her had tossed and turned, whispers rising and falling under the blanket of darkness that surrounded them all. Even when Hermione had finally dozed off into a fitful rest, those nightmares would wake her almost immediately. In the end, she had spent the night staring thoughtlessly at the navy, star-studded sky, shivering under her worthless worn blanket.

The sun had risen weakly in the sky and Hermione struggled to open her eyes, knowing that once she did, she would have to drag herself through the day. Hopefully, it would only be that one night, and she could move past what had happened in the row buildings with Flint. Ginny still lay still and breathing deeply, and Hermione left her that way. Ginny hadn't slept well since Lily had been taken, and Hermione wasn't about to take the precious moments when her friend could sleep away from her. On the other side, Lavender rested, her head turned towards the wall, as usual, her hand covering her belly protectively. A wave of sympathy and sadness washed over Hermione as she moved away from the cots and towards the door leading outside.

Justin sat on the worn cement stoop, staring out at the sunrise.

"'Allo, 'Mione."

She sat, shivering for a moment.

"Budge up," she murmured softly, and he did, so that she found herself leaning against him, both for comfort and his warmth, which warded off the chilly morning air.

"You had trouble sleeping."

It wasn't really a question, but more of a knowing statement, to which she had no rebuttal. Sighing, Hermione nodded.

"Bad night. Loads of nightmares, and I just-"

Her words faded away and she closed her weary eyes, leaning against her friend. She felt him sigh as well.

"I heard 'bout what happened between you and Lavender. She hasn't talked since, and I reckon Flint isn't the most pleasant of blokes."

His words were colored with concern, but even the warmth in them did not relieve Hermione, who shuddered in an obvious way.

"He's horrid."

Those two words couldn't begin to come close to the misery and fear caused her at Flint's hand, but somehow, she simply wasn't able to vocalize what she was feeling. Not even to a friend.

"Aye," he murmured in a low voice, and then they sat in comfortable silence.

Hermione turned to gaze on his profile, the sun catching in his golden curls, his face not so pale in the golden light.

"I'm glad," she told him. "That you've managed to be….all right here. That they haven't gotten to you yet."

And she meant those words more than anything she had meant in a long time.

Hermione would never have vocalized her fears, or the fact that she knew what it was like to feel pain at the hands of the Ministry officials. Justin, too, had lost much in the war. But she was glad, after seeing all she had seen the day before that her friends had been spared much of the horror. Justin gazed back at her, and then he offered her a lopsided smile, though even this was touched with sadness.

"I have something to tell you."

Her words were quiet, spoken cautiously.

"I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell you, but, I've realized something. No matter what happens in the future, none of us can be responsible for anyone but ourselves. If we get out of here, fine. If we don't, well, it won't much matter will it? But he have to try, Justin. We have to hope that one day we'll be free of this place. There are groups, have you heard? The resistance movements?"

Justin's upper lip twitched.

"Aye," he replied. "There's been talk; even amongst those stupid oafs they call officials."

He glanced at Hermione, and there was hesitation in his tone.

"But I knew more before I was brought here to this forsaken place. They call themselves WERA. The wizards' equal rights alliance. Great bunch of blokes, trying to help us and all. It can't be easy, and so many of them have died already. Before they raided my flat, Seamus met me at a pub near here. He told me what was going on and he told me he'd try and help me, so I could join them. They need all the people they can get. It was getting to be too much for them, but they couldn't…they couldn't come in time, and…"

Hermione dropped her head, hearing the frustration in Justin's voice, his desire to be free, just like all of them.

"I know," she whispered, clasping her hand over his in hopes of offering some kind of comfort. "Seamus told me."

Justin gave Hermione a half-smile.

"'Blimey, Hermione, where have you been going with Malfoy all those hours he's got you at his house? Ginny tells me you're his housekeeper, but-"

Hermione let go of his hand, standing and facing away from him, her back straight. She took a deep breath.

"That doesn't matter."

Her fists were clenched, her face tight with determination.

"I'm protecting Lily. That's all I can say."

She turned then, a pleading expression on her face.

"Please understand."

Perhaps it was the intensity with which she said those words, or the fact that Justin understood desperation, but he said no more, instead, pulling Hermione down with him.

"So, you've seen Seamus. Did he tell you about WERA? About what's happened to the others? That they're all right?"

She nodded, and then touched his arm, turning him so that he had to look at her.

"They'll come here next month," she whispered her eyes locking with his. "Please, Justin, promise me you'll go when they come. They'll come for you. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Get out of here when you can. And take Lavender with you. And Ginny. If Lily is with us, I want you to take her, too."

Justin frowned and rolled his eyes.

"You know Ginny won't leave without you, and, I won't either, 'Mione."

"You have to! This is what we need! More people to fight with…with Seamus, and the rest of them."

Justin offered her a rare smirk.

"That's what Lee always says. Always the cheerleader, yeah? He was a bloody brilliant Quidditch commentator."

Hermione startled for a moment, smirking a little at the thought of Lee and all his colorful comments during the games at Hogwarts. She felt a twisting of nostalgia and sadness in her lower belly. Justin continued.

"He helped found WERA, you know. Him and a few others.

"Lee Jordan is with them? He's been leading the efforts?"

Justin nodded, glancing at her with a small smile. It served to brighten his face a fraction and Hermione was glad for it.

"Along with…there's…well, you remember Potterwatch, don't you? All those who were part of that, they kind of…felt the need to continue the effort, even after Harry…"

He faded away, sad once more, the life that had been stirred within him at the mention of Lee gone now.

"And some of the members of the Order, you know, the ones that survived Hogwarts and who didn't have families to check on…"

Hermione paused, her mind whirling. Potterwatch. She remembered how Ron had used the radio and that broadcast like a lifeline, clinging to it when nights got too lonely or his spirit too downtrodden. The voices of their former classmates had given them some hope, and even now she remembered the deep, honeyed drawl of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_. . . __It's one short step from 'Wizards first' to 'Purebloods first,' and then to 'Death Eaters.' . . . We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving…_

How right he had been!

"What about Kingsley? He was always so supportive of Muggle-borns, and…"

Her face flushed as she heard a whispered agreement from Justin.

"He's with them, Hermione. There was a lot of hope lost when we lost Harry. But not all. And Harry would have wanted us to fight back."

Hermione's eyes were shining as she looked at her friend.

"That's why you have to! You have to go with them when they come, and take care of Ginny and her family. I'd rather all of you be away from me and safe, than with me."

He was saddened.

"You can't save us," he whispered.

Tears filled Hermione's eyes.

"I'll sure try. And I know the others will too. Voldemort can't win forever; this Ministry will crumble someday, Justin. All that is great will one day fall."

She sighed.

"It's just a matter of when and how much we lose before it does."

"Aye," he muttered. "They've been talking about it all morning. What happened in western London, at the other alienage. The Ministry managed to capture most of WERA, you know."

Hermione's eyes flooded with tears, but she refused to speak of what she had seen in the rows, and what Flint had made her to do some of them.

"They'll be dead by tonight," she whispered. "But it was a risk and they took it! If we don't take risks, we'll be stuck like this forever."

Justin sighed, his fingers clutched into fists, and his face reflecting fear.

"Risk might mean death."

"Staying here will mean death, too."

Hermione's reminder faded into the air.

* * *

><p>Draco hated dinners in the mess hall, having opted most days to go home, to Kensington. There, he could find relative calm, if not peace of mind. There, he could eat edible food and not the slop that the Ministry passed off as edible. And there, Granger would-<p>

He stopped thinking, his fingers tightening on the metal fork that he was holding. He eyed the strange gray-brown lump on his plate, wondering what kind of meat it was. At the same time, he was avoiding the table in front of him, where most of his employees sat, talking and guffawing amongst each other. Animals, all of them. He wanted nothing to do with them now.

Unfortunately, luck was no lady, and she planted Mulciber and Macnair unceremoniously in Draco's path.

"So, it must me nice to be Flint, eh Boss?"

Macnair's lips twitched under his mustache, while Mulciber wore an expression harsh enough to make milk turn sour.

"I don't have time for this."

Draco snapped the words and stood to his full height, for he had never felt comfortable being in charge of such volatile men, even though most of the time he managed it quite well. He often feared them, though he would never let them know that.

"Don't ya?" Mulciber drawled. "Not fair, Boss. The last time I tortured a bunch of Mudbloods I got a day off without pay. Flint killed a full room for sport, and what's he get? A sodding slap on the wrist? Bollocks!"

Draco's face was a tense mixture of disgust and hatred.

"Those people who died this afternoon were part of that bloody resistance movement Madame Lestrange talked about earlier this week! I suppose if you two paid a bit more attention to your work and less to your pricks, you might have picked that one up!"

It was difficult for him to keep a calm demeanor, and not let them know how he truly felt.

"Oh, so are they more guilty than anyone else? And last time I checked, Mudbloods weren't allowed to look at a wand, let along handle one!"

Mulciber snickered.

"And that feisty little bushy-haired bitch was waving one around like some kind of conductor!"

Macnair laughed at the other official's stupid antics.

Draco froze, his lip turning up into a sneer.

"What do you mean?"

His question was sharp, grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hermione hadn't told him –refused even – to share what Flint had made her do.

Mulciber made a face.

"That bastard's more sadistic than I gave him credit for. He forced the Mudblood to torture her own. I heard he made her use the Unforgivables, he did! That's rich stuff, yeah?"

Draco stared, forcing an expression he hoped beyond hope revealed nothing, even though his insides froze with disbelief and disgust.

_Bloody hell! That depraved piece of fucking shit! Oh, Hermione! No wonder you-_

She had been so shaken. She had not spoken the whole evening she had spent with him in Kensington. She had hardly moved, even when he had so selfishly initiated physical contact with her to assuage his own guilt and fears. She had been willing, but so distant. Nothing like the way she had been that first night and he-

_I just did what I had to and moved on, didn't I? Treating her like she's a-_

His strange, inconclusive thoughts raged on like a train out of control until they crashed, leaving him numb. Macnair and Mulciber watched him, strange looks on their faces.

"You look peaky, Boss. Maybe you're comin' down with whatever Lady Lestrange has, yeah? She's been in the infirmary since Flint brought her there yesterday, sayin' she can't remember what happened or how she got there. Must be a right nasty illness. Probably got it from one of those disgusting Mudbloods, the flu or whatnot."

Draco swallowed hard, clearing his throat to find his voice, which was weak even when he spoke.

"Right, I should go…make sure," he muttered, scowling. "And don't you two go questioning my decisions about discipline here! If you got one day off without pay it was for good reason, Mulciber. And Flint…well, he'll get what's coming to him, don't you worry. And mind your own business. You have more important things to do now, what with the resistance against us growing stronger each day."

His words were forceful, and so must have been the look on his pale, sharp features, for both men nodded without speaking, backing away to let Draco through. He nearly shoved them out of his way, stalking out of the mess hall and towards the Ministry offices, murder on his mind.

Three steps into the courtyard, and Draco slowed, as reality crept into his rage fueled thoughts.

_I can't confront Flint__ about this! He'll question my feelings, won't he? _

He was stuck – hopelessly stuck in a situation that he didn't know how to get out of. He stood in the center of the courtyard, a strange figure wearing a face of confusion and within whom beat a tortured heart. As he managed to catch his breath, Draco looked across the yard, towards the horizon in the distance. Impossibly torn, he didn't know what to do. He knew Flint deserved the proverbial shit beat out of him, just as Pansy had deserved the same for the things she had done, but how could he, Draco Malfoy, do something like that without drawing suspicion to himself?

_And if something happens to me, who's going to make sure __**she's**__ all right? _

No one. Because no one gave a damn.

_But me._

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><p>The first thing Hermione was aware of when she entered the laundry room, was the sound of a woman yelling at the top of her lungs.<p>

"I'm sick of your sympathy!"

Her voice was shrill and laced with pain and anger.

"I know you feel bloody sorry, all right? I got it the first night they tossed me into this place. I don't know how to ask you to stop feeling sorry for me! To stop looking at me! I hate the looks everyone gives me! I hate everything!"

Hermione stopped when she saw the pallor on Ginny's face, the helplessness, as Lavender, who was decidedly more red faced, tore into her with a savage bitterness.

"I know I'm coming off like some ungrateful bitch, but I just can't do this! I can barely handle what's happened, let alone deal with everyone around me!"

Her trembling hands came up to cover her face, and she began to sob.

"Please, just leave me alone."

Hermione stopped when she reached the two women, who had clearly been in some heated discussion before Lavender had lost her temper, and she wasn't sure if it was the events of the afternoon, or their whole situation, but Hermione bristled.

"You should learn to be more grateful, Lavender. There isn't much sympathy to go around, you know. Some of us didn't have any for years, and we've done nothing but try to understand what's happened to you from the beginning. Ginny's not to blame, she doesn't know what you've been through. None of us do. Maybe, we would leave you alone, if we knew what you've faced. And why you push us away."

Her words were soft, but they were still cold underneath their softness; Hermione had not forgotten their argument, for it had led to the punishment inflicted on her by Marcus Flint.

Lavender turned her blue eyes wide and full of rage.

"Who are you to tell any of us how to feel and act?"

She seemed to forget Ginny as she advanced on Hermione.

"Have you ever considered that some of us can't talk about our feelings like you can?"

The words were like an invisible slap that rocked Hermione backwards for a split second. In some ways, Lavender was right. Hermione couldn't speak of her problems so that they could understand her; she couldn't even be honest with her closest friend and sister-in-law.

Lavender continued, her tone broken.

"Some of us don't want to! Some of us just want to be left alone!"

Her voice begged them to leave her alone. Hermione dropped her eyes, sighing.

"I just don't think…there needs to be any more fighting. Especially between all of us. We need each other."

Lavender sniffed.

"I don't need you, or the Pureblood Princess behind me. Pretending to feel sorry for me and what's happened! Just leave me alone, Hermione! Don't you have enough problems worrying about pleasing your Death Eater? Don't make the mistakes I made, or you'll end up just like me!"

With that, she pushed Hermione out of the way and disappeared, leaving a stunned Ginny in her wake. Her brown eyes were full of confusion as Hermione sank down onto one of the rickety cots, wrapping her arms around herself.

There it was, the truth, and uttered in such a disparaging manner, too. She could hardly bring herself to gaze up at her companion, wondering what she would think. Hermione felt the shame burning across her cheeks, coloring them feverishly.

"Hermione?"

It was Ginny who spoke first.

"What did she mean?"

The words weren't accusatory, and Hermione felt the cot shift as Ginny sat down next to her. Then, she felt Ginny take her hand, but even this didn't help her find words to answer the question. Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand, leaning against her for a moment.

"You know I've wondered what you've been doing for Malfoy," she whispered, suddenly overcome with a realization.

Lavender's words, and Hermione's hours away from the alienage.

"You've slept with him."

Tears formed behind Hermione's closed eyes, and a choked sob escaped. The two women held each other for a few moments. Finally, after a long time, Hermione glanced up, daring to look into Ginny's face.

"It's to help Lily. I'm sorry. I never thought-"

Ginny didn't look upset. She didn't look offended, or derisive, or accusatory, or ashamed, like any of the things Hermione had expected. She simply looked sad. And Hermione, like Lavender, didn't want sadness or sympathy.

Quickly, in one jerky movement, she got to her feet, wanting to escape Ginny's presence, her eyes, everything.

"Lavender's right," she whispered. "Sometimes when you've given up everything, all you have left is yourself. I offered him what I could, so he would help Lily. He says he will. I believe him."

Ginny, who could hear the broken quality of Hermione's words, stood up as well.

"Do you believe him? Or is that what you're telling yourself to keep from losing all hope?"

Hermione faced her friend, opening her mouth to speak, but uncertain even what to say.

"I believe him."

But, the truth was, she didn't know anymore. She didn't know what to think, or how to feel, or who to believe.

"He's a Death Eater. He did this to you; he did this to all of us."

Ginny's brown eyes were watering.

"None of this would have happened if his kind had a conscience or even considered for one bloody second what they were doing! How could you trust him?"

Somehow, the derision that Hermione had expected had crept into Ginny's voice, and it broke the other woman's heart.

"He's…he's not so bad. You know that, Ginny! You saw that, more than once. You know me. You know I'd never do something that would potentially hurt you or your children. I…I couldn't sit back and let that woman take Lily! He said he'd help me."

Ginny's looked towards her friend, in a limbo, one part of her wanting to trust Hermione, and the other terrified of the decision she had made. In the end, she got up, and turned to head out the door. Hermione couldn't stand the possibility that her closest friend in the whole wide world would walk out of the room with such uncertainty and fear painted across her face. She dashed after her, reaching Ginny just by the door.

"He's kind," she whispered. "More than kind. When I'm with him, it's better than when I'm here."

Tears filled Hermione's eyes and Ginny's lips moved slightly, her eyes wide.

"I just don't want you hurt, 'Mione. You can't forget what he is. There's no kindness there! No sympathy. What happens when he stops wanting you?"

The question begged an answer, but Hermione had none, and she was only able to stare back at Ginny silently. The red haired woman sighed, gathering the brunette to her in a torrid hug.

"Be careful," she whispered. "I can't bear to lose you. I can't even bear the thought. Promise me, Hermione. Promise me you'll be careful."

Hermione pulled away, swallowing.

"I promise."

In the distance, she saw the brilliant blond of his hair, just as he slipped behind a building. He had been watching her, and she couldn't help the strange, frightening thrill that ran through her.

For no matter what Ginny said, Hermione knew she had already made her choice to be with him and there was no turning back now.


	27. Chapter 27

_Out of all the stories on ff dot net, you chose to review, favorite and alert this one. Shucks. I heart all of you. __ And, I'm not feeling so great, which is quite conducive to writing. ;) Here you guys go – a little early. The path to true love never did run smooth, or something like that._

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN<p>

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><p>Seeing Hermione after he had found out the truth about what Flint had done to her was impossible. Draco had indulged himself once glance, before slipping around the side of the office quarters, and then towards the exit, where he apparated into western London. Zabini was not at work; he had requested Draco meet him at a barista near the alienage he managed for tea and light nosh. It turned out a good excuse as any to get away from the source of his torment.<p>

As he came around the corner, he could see Zabini leaning against the brick wall of the establishment, smoking. His outward appearance seemed to signify nonchalance, but Draco could tell that beneath that veneer there was despair and tension.

"Malfoy."

Zabini put out his cigarette, and then stuck out his hand for a shake, which Draco did with slight reluctance.

"I assume you have some news for me? We oughtn't to be seen together, what with has happened with the escape attempt several days ago."

Zabini nodded.

"Had it been up to me, I would have let them all go. Too many deaths otherwise, and now it's too late."

Yes, Draco decided that he and Zabini shared a brain.

"Shall we?"

Draco followed Zabini into the small establishment, which was redolent of coffee and pastries. For a moment, he pictured Hermione at the dessert table the night of his aunt's party, and a smirk crossed his lips. He wondered if he could get away with bringing her a chocolate éclair, or some such treat. Probably not.

Sighing, he sat down at a table covered in a red and white tablecloth, before ordering food from a short, plump looking Muggle woman. Soon, Draco had his hands wrapped around a mug of steaming Earl Grey.

The two men sat in silence, neither one look at the other, before Zabini broke the silence.

"How is she?"

The words were whispered, and he leaned closer so no one would overhear. The shop was mostly empty, but he refused to take chances.

Draco rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the red marks that were still healing.

"Feisty," he hissed back. "I never thought you had paid attention in Care of Magical Creatures, Zabini. Brown's worse than a bloody hippogriff!"

Zabini looked unfazed.

"She's had a lot thrown at her, and without a wand, a woman learns how to defend herself."

Draco found himself floored at the pride in Zabini's voice, even though it was muted by the worry that predominated. He swallowed his tea for a moment before speaking.

"She's…not adjusting well. She misses you. She misses the baby."

The words faded into the low din of the establishment, and Zabini's face communicated things that words could never have. It would have been impossible for Draco to express what was going through his own mind, and so he thanked Merlin that Zabini did not speak for a long while.

Then, the darker man reached into the pockets of his robe and retrieved a single photograph, laying it on the table in between them.

"That's her."

His words were quiet, the tone thin, as if it were stretched too tightly. His dark eyes revealed the weariness of his soul.

"Lavender called her Daisy. I guess…I just, well she's Daisy to me, too."

The little girl in the photograph had wisps of brown gold hair that framed a tiny, round face, beautiful in its innocence and sweetness. She had a dimple in her right cheek when she laughed and waved up happily at the two men staring down at her. She had skin the color of milk laced coffee but her eyes were her mother's – a startling blue Draco had only ever associated with fairy princesses from the storybooks his mother read to him as a child.

"She's-"

Draco thought he should have said something; words were appropriate, after all. The child was beautiful, he knew. And Zabini was lucky. His child, no matter how she had been conceived and despite the consequences of that conception, was still alive. Scorpius was long dead, and there was a strange mixture of hatred and bitterness that flowed within Draco. But even with that, he sensed a rush of joy for Zabini.

Disgruntled by the never ending rush of emotions he was feeling lately, Draco pushed the photograph towards the other man, not wanting to gaze down at Daisy any longer, for she wrought in him feelings and memories he didn't want to relive. Not ever.

"All's fine, mate?"

Draco swallowed with difficulty.

"Peachy."

He downed tea that burned his throat and warmed him, dispelling the strange icy feeling that had suddenly coated his insides. Indeed, his fingers still trembled because of it. He breathed in the comforting spicy and bitter scent of his beverage.

Zabini hesitated.

"I was hoping you'd give the photograph to Lavender, you know, so she…knows that Daisy's getting on well. That she's growing and she's more beautiful each day and-"

Draco made a strangled sound of impatience.

"Fine, I'll take it to her. I'll tell her what you told me."

The interruption was harsh enough to cause his companion to fall into silence, and Draco tucked the small photograph into his robe pockets, and out of sight.

"Are you sure all's fine, Malfoy?"

Draco gritted his teeth, and nodded.

"Leave me be, Zabini."

It was all he could say in the end, for he wasn't sure how to speak of a son that had been taken from him much too soon. It seemed impossible to put such a loss into words. He had tried, once, to write it down, and in rereading it Draco had felt a deep chasm between the words he had penned and what he had been feeling. No, it would be impossible. Nothing else was said for a moment, and Draco took another swallow of the tea just as their food arrived. He wasn't hungry, but he dutifully choked down food that tasted like nothing.

"I've found a way to get Lily Potter away from Pansy Parkinson."

When Draco glanced up, Zabini was watching him with something akin to sympathy.

_Does he know what I'm thinking? Merlin's Beard!_

"Have you?"

He put down his fork, and pushed the plate of half eaten food aside, trying not to look eager. It wouldn't do.

Zabini took a breath.

"Flint's requested a list of children to be sent for experimentation to Azkaban. I got the owl this morning, but haven't replied. The paperwork for her transfer out of London would take longer than this. If I play my cards right, I could have her out of Pansy's hands within the week."

The iciness returned full force, causing Draco's breathing to stop.

"Are you barking mad?" he hissed, gray eyes flashing. "I want Lily out of London and _safe._ That was the deal we made, Zabini, and I'll be a gryndilow's uncle before I see you back out of it!"

Zabini leaned away from Draco, raising one eyebrow at the blond man's vehemence. It still made no sense to him why it was so important that Ginny Potter's daughter be safe.

_Wouldn't I do the same thing for my Daisy?_

Yes, he would have. But, Lily Potter wasn't Draco's daughter, and therein did lay the mystery of his decisions. Nothing made sense. He swallowed and his jaw clenched.

"If you'd stop being such a sodding berk, and let me finish! Bloody hell, Malfoy!"

Draco sat back, lowering his head, wishing he had better control over his emotions, though, since Granger had walked back into his life that part had been rather difficult.

"Fine. Crack on, then."

His response was sharp, and the silence that followed was icy.

"If I get her on the carts to Azkaban, and ensure that I'm driving the cart that she's on, which I can, I'll be able to make a detour. I know someone who'll take her, get her on the first train out of London. Lily's name will be on the list for Azkaban, and there are so many children in my alienage, I can't imagine that anyone would miss her if she didn't make it there."

His face was grave.

"And once they do, she'll be long gone. Voldemort has influence within all of London, and most of England, but the movement isn't widespread; she'll be safe once she's out of the country."

Draco swallowed, looking into the deep brown depths of his tea, just as the Muggle woman brought them a plate of biscuits.

"You have contacts from within WERA? Isn't that dangerous? Especially if the Ministry starts sniffing around?"

Draco found himself both shocked and hopeful at how deeply entrenched Zabini had gotten with the freedom movement. The darker man chuckled.

"Not exactly," he said.

Then, he sighed.

"It's one of those situations where you know someone, who knows someone, who knows…"

He paused, biting his lip.

"When Lavender first came to Paddington, there was a group of women who…were sympathizers. They kept it quite silent, but I found out about it anyway. I know where they live, and I knew that at some point Lavender would need help, so I chose to pretend that I didn't know what they were getting on about. It's served me well. I protected them, and they've returned the favor. They knew of my relationship with Lavender, and they knew about her pregnancy. They have Daisy. Well, one of them has her, and if I need my daughter out of London, she'll be on the next train out. And I can do the same for you. For Lily Potter, if that's what you want."

Draco searched Zabini's face, realizing that in those words flared a hope that he hadn't felt in a long while. There was a way out. Perhaps, a way out even for Granger, if she wanted it.

"How can any Mudblood help anyone now? If the Ministry catches wind of something like that, they're dead. Anyone with them is dead. Your daughter-"

Zabini shook his head, his eyes widening.

"They're not Mudbloods. They're pureblood and fighting for the same cause as WERA. There's more of them than the Ministry knows, rebelling in their own way. Living a life of obedience on the surface while going against the Ministry underneath."

Draco hesitated and Zabini leaned across the table, his gaze intense.

"What choice do you have, Malfoy? The paperwork for legal transfer could take months, at least. I could have this arranged within days, and Lily could be gone. It's not safe for anyone now, and especially anyone staying with that Parkinson cow."

The blond man swallowed.

"You're right."

His words were choked as he was suddenly struck by a thought that made his heart race.

"If you can do what you say you can, could you do it for anyone?"

He could get Hermione and Lily out of London for good. Merlin knew where they would go, but they'd be away from him and he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore. It's what he wanted, for the alternative was frightening. Each day he saw Hermione, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that he didn't care. In fact, Draco knew that caring was a given, and that his feelings were careening into dangerous territory.

_It's out of the question. Whatever this madness I feel is, it's out of the question. I simply cannot even accept such a thing! I need her gone. I need all of this over. I need to be back to normal._

Zabini looked at Malfoy with a critical eye, one eyebrow lifting in his musings.

"What's this about, Malfoy?"

Draco sneered.

"If you can do it for one person, you could do it for two, maybe three, yeah?"

Sighing, the dark haired man shook his head.

"Sorry, mate. I'm not about to risk WERA's position. I might be able to sneak two by the Ministry, but any more than that and they'll be right suspicious."

His dark eyes narrowed.

"I'm asking you once more. What's this about?"

Draco sighed, the flare of hope dying in a glorious burst of light, and then his world was dark once more. Sighing, he sat back against the chair in a limp fashion, and then shrugged.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll tell you."

And why not, he figured?

After all, he was in the same position that just weeks ago, he had promised himself he would never take. And the misfortune of it all was that he hadn't even chosen it; when it came to Hermione Granger, Draco wondered if he had ever had any choice at all.

"It was never about Ginny Potter."

He looked down, his heart trembling.

"It's about Hermione Granger."

Her name was like the most powerful incantation he had ever whispered.

* * *

><p>Hermione had not seen Marcus Flint since the horrific afternoon that she revisited each night in her dreams. She wasn't even sure how many days had gone by, only that she could no longer sleep, for her actions haunted her the moment she drifted off. What had once been a respite from the world was now something Hermione tried to avoid. Therefore, she spent most of her waking hours in a daze of exhaustion, simply hoping that she could get through another day. That and wishing that whatever WERA was planning would come to fruition.<p>

Hermione found herself daydreaming about the possibility of an escape along with Justin, Lily and Ginny. Though she had spent so many years on the run from the Ministry and it had been the most difficult time of her life, it was still preferable to the hell that she had experienced at the alienage. She craved freedom, even if it was uncertain and bore its own hardships.

But, would it happen? And would Lily be back before it did?

Such questions filled her with a leaden, heavy feeling which would not abate. Hermione spent as much time thinking about it as she did trying not to think about it.

It was one of those moments that she was spending trying not to think about it, when she heard a voice that froze the blood within her, and caused her breath to stop. Too many times she had heard that same hiss in her nightmares.

"Going somewhere, pet?"

And when she looked up, Hermione saw Flint lounging against the office building, watching her from under heavy thick bangs of hair.

"You meetin' Malfoy, are you? Funny, I thought he'd have tired of you already!"

Hermione knew if she ignored him and kept on moving, he'd follow her, or worse. And being in the courtyard where anyone could come out and find them was infinitely safer than having him follow her to he deserted road where Draco might not get to her in time. If, at all, since she was no longer sure who to trust.

So, she stopped, turning to face her tormentor.

"As I do each morning."

"Of course. Lucky git, isn't he? What most of us wouldn't do for a regular fuck! I guess that's the perks of being the Head of the Hit Wizard Squad."

His tone was nonchalant, but his dark eyes glittered menacingly in Hermione's direction, making her swallow under his scrutiny. As she watched, he righted himself, a smug smile on his ugly face.

"You'd best start practicing, doll. For sure, Malfoy will want something new and fresh eventually, seeing as you're nearly used up, aren'tcha? You think you might keep him satisfied for much longer? I don't. Don't worry, I take it when I can get it. I'll have a go once he's finished."

As he passed, Hermione felt herself begin to tremble and her eyes fluttered closed.

_Please, don't let him hurt me!_

She felt his breath against her face.

"And, I'll make you love it."

His breath smelled of smoke and filth; he was gone a second later, leaving her alone. Trying not to stumble on her uncertain legs, Hermione hurried to meet Malfoy, praying that he would not ask too many questions, for she didn't know what she would tell him.

* * *

><p>Draco looked down at Hermione. Her face was pale, with only fevered spots of pink color along her cheekbones. She had been late; and she had arrived frazzled, yet trying to appear as if nothing was amiss.<p>

Draco hated himself for noticing she wasn't. And even more so for caring either way. He knew it had something to do with Flint, but for days Hermione had remained infuriatingly silent, avoiding him and the possibility of being questioned. Was she truly that terrified? Did she not know that he would protect her from that worthless git? Had he not told her?

It was all together too confusing to Draco. What he needed to know she wouldn't divulge.

_What did he tell you? What frightens you so?_

He wished that Hermione could understand- could trust his feelings, the fact that he had never been more serious about protecting her than he was now.

He cared for her. For whatever inexplicable reasons that had overtaken his heart and muddled his rationality.

"Are you ill?"

He asked the question cautiously, searching her face, the dull brown eyes, and the way she avoided his gaze and hunched into herself. It was a pointless inquiry, he knew. And she knew, too, her answer dismissive.

"No, I just want to go."

"Granger-"

Her head jerked up, a flash of anger, hatred and panic in her brown eyes now.

"No! I have a job to do, and I want to do it. I don't want to talk."

Draco knew her well enough now to recognize that in spite of the angry retort, it was fear that was driving her. But what had terrified her remained a frustrating secret.

They portkeyed into Kensington as always, and the silence between them all the way to the house had worn on Draco in ways he never imagined silence could. It was so heavy, it was bloody near oppressive. The house was disused and devoid of life as Astoria spent most afternoons away from home now. The change left Draco perplexed, but it was rather pleasant all at the same, and so he didn't question it much. As they climbed the polished cement steps leading up to the massive covered porch of his home, the silence between them became too much for him and Draco turned, stopping her.

"I'm bloody sick of this, Granger."

The words were harsher than he had intended. And, as if he hadn't already felt unnerved enough, her reaction made his brow furrow and rattled something within him.

All color fled her face, leaving behind an ashen wasteland, and he could see the obvious fall of her features, the flash of panic in those exquisite eyes, and the way her lips began to tremble. Her touch, when it came, was icy cold.

"No," she whispered, and Draco realized how shallow her breathing had become.

She was terrified, he realized with a start.

"No!"

Her voice was a strange squeak-like sound as she repeated that one word and her grip on his hand intensified to a shade less than painful. It was bizarre that even in that vise-like grip; her hands did not warm in his own.

"If I'm doing something wrong," she whispered frantically, "you can tell me, and I'll fix it!"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"You can't be sick of me, I just – please, I'll do anything!"

As Hermione clung to him, her pathetic display wrought loathing from Draco, though that was fast being replaced by sympathy. And self-loathing. And disbelief. And horror.

"Granger-"

He tried once more to interrupt, but this time, she reached up, running her fingers along his body, and even though Draco tried to pull away from her desperate touch, she would not be deterred, for she was driven more vehemently than he. Her lips pressed against his, hard. Draco's head spun deliciously. He knew bedazzlement charms; he had also often used a confundus charm as well. But then, there was Granger's kiss and her gentle touch, which were doubly as powerful as the entire latter put together.

For a moment, he gave in, before he realized what he was doing.

"Enough!"

By the time he dragged her into the house, Hermione had started to sob.

The house was swathed in shadows, a coolness residing in the corners and the high ceilings. The air was still and neither of them spoke, their ragged breathing the only silence of the room. It only served to increase the tension between them.

Hermione's heart hammered out of control within her.

_This is it. Flint was right. Oh, God, I had hoped he wasn't! Now what?_

Now, she knew what it felt like to be completely without hope. Now, she knew what Lavender Brown must have felt when the only man she had trusted had deserted her.

_It's not the same! I don't love him!_

Her face burned and her fingers were frozen. She felt as if the shame that flooded her conscience had burned away the heart of her, leaving behind only the ache in every one of her nerve endings. The pain was raw; it made her dizzy. She wasn't able to take a full breath or harbor rational thought. All she knew was that Draco was sick of her.

What had she done wrong? What did he want that she couldn't give him? What would she do now? Hermione fought with the bout of sobbing that threatened her. How he would mock her if she fell apart here, in his home, and yet she didn't know how to keep her pain at bay.

The world had already torn her down, and Draco would finish the job. He would destroy what was left of her, and then…

_I'm pathetic. I'm nothing. I threw myself at a man who never wanted me. I wanted to trust a man who never intended to help me. I believed in something that never existed. And now, he'll toss me aside to Flint and the others, and by the time I look death in the face, there will be nothing left of me. Oh, Gods! Please –please-_

Draco was shaking her.

"Not of you, Granger," he whispered. "Not of _you._"

Hermione gasped. Her next breath felt saving; she felt like she had broken through the surface of a sea of despair, and his words were the sweet air she needed for survival. Blinking, she looked up at him, numb and mute, wanting more than anything to believe his whispered words.

He reached down to capture her face in his hands, running his thumbs across the softness of her heated cheeks.

"Of this situation," he continued, reaching to pull her close.

He felt so warm, too warm, Hermione realized. His touch was a balm, soothing all the aching, ragged edges of her. She melted into him willingly.

"Of your secrets, Granger. I know what happened with Flint."

She froze in his arms, beginning to tremble.

"I know what he did to you."

Breathing heavily, Hermione refused to listen to anymore of his words. No, she couldn't. She had to focus on pleasing him, on making sure that she would remain in his favor. A mistress didn't speak, did she? A mistress did what the man wanted, knew how to please him.

"I don't want to talk, Draco."

The words were muffled, as her lips found purchase against his collarbone, and her fingers moved to undo the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. Pulling at it at first with gentleness and then with increasing frustration, she managed to tear of several of the buttons, and they scattered around on the hardwood floor. As she fought with his stubborn shirt, Hermione rained heated, frantic, and needy kisses along his flesh, pressing her face against his, heedless of her tears, and of his confusion and growing concern.

"Hermione," he murmured, wanting to soothe her, bewildered at her actions and the fact that she was bloody _trembling_ like something had given her a fright. It didn't make sense, nothing did but-

"Just hold me," she sobbed against his neck, terrified, confused. What was happening to her? Why did she feel this way?

"I don't want to talk; I just want to be with you! Just like you said. Just me and you. Nothing else, I don't want to talk about anything else!"

The words ran over one another in her hasty pleading, as she clutched him close, her hands now more familiar with the planes of his body, greedily running along whatever part of him she could reach. He was warm, and soft, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be as close to him as she could. To be taken by him so completely that he would burn away all thought, all consideration, all rationality. She knew he would set her free from all her torments.

Hermione pushed Draco gently against the wall next to the wooden staircase leading up to the first level of his home. He stumbled, and then settled onto the bottom step, Hermione following without hesitation, moving to press herself against him completely.

At first, he fought with her, and she could feel his hesitation, but soon enough she was able to soften him with her kisses, with the touches that were growing increasingly more passionate. She lifted herself, and then straddled his lap, the action so intimate; she could feel his gasp, even as he struggled to maintain a fast fleeting control. Her wild curls, the waterfall of caramel and chestnut tickled his face, and he breathed in the singular scent of her, for he found it comforting. Still, he knew he was beyond just this feeling with her, just the blinding, all consuming physical need for her. He wanted more; he wanted to know her mind, too. What she was thinking. He wanted to know all of her. During the cold grip of reality, Draco might not even have known his true desires, but when he was with her like this, he wanted so much more than she had given him.

"What… did he… tell you?"

The words came in between her relentless, searing mouth.

The question, even in husky tones, made her blood run cold, and she burrowed further into him, pressing herself closer, kissing him with abandon. She could lose herself in this man, Hermione knew. She wanted to; she wanted to feel the all consuming oblivion he provided. She wanted him to erase the strange, new feelings within her, for none of those made sense. She didn't want to be afraid or long for him anymore. She didn't want to think about Flint or her nightmares, or Lavender and her baby, or Seamus, Justin, Ron…

Tears began to fall.

"No," she whispered, the plea hot against Draco's lips as he fingers found the button of his trousers and undid them, reaching to take the hard length of him into her hand. He jerked against her, letting out a stifled moan whilst pulling her body flush against his stomach so that there was no space between them. Her gentle ministrations made Draco forget what he had been thinking before.

"No. No more talk, Draco. I want you. I want you, now. Don't you want me? Don't you want this? It helps, doesn't it? It makes everything else go away, and I just don't want to think anymore! I don't want to feel this way! I just want you!"

Nothing had ever sounded so erotic, as organic as the words that slipped from her flushed lips as she moved to kiss him once more and her hand began a delicious stroke along his hardness.

But it was right then, that Draco was hit with a wave of haltingly stark realization. Maybe, it was the way she was looking at him. He wondered if the shock that had run through him at her touch, which had awakened all of his senses, had also shocked some sense into him. Or, perhaps it was just that he knew Hermione to be incredibly brilliant, and not above using his weaknesses to get what she wanted.

At any rate, it was like bucket of cold water, causing him to sputter and pull away from her. She was crying, the tears glistening on her flushed cheeks like watery diamonds.

"Please," she begged, her words a ragged plea.

"What did he tell you?"

It made sense to Draco now. Her possessive behavior, the fear – yes, he understood everything. It had become all to real, much too quickly. He stared at her, waiting and she remained silent, shaking her head.

"BLOODY HELL GRANGER!"

The words made her flinch, and her eyes closed, tears slipping from them. Draco wanted to hurt her. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to gather her into his arms and abandon himself to her magic.

No, he couldn't. Not now, maybe, not ever again.

"Did he tell you I'd abandon you? That I wouldn't want you anymore? That you'd end up like some of the women he's been with?"

Each of the questions was stated with increasing vehemence, his tone colored with disbelief. He hated his own anger but it was better than the sheer disappointment that reigned within him.

"Do you really believe him?"

Draco pulled away from her viciously, standing up from the step, causing her to fall unceremoniously to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

"You disgust me," he hissed, his eyes narrowing into tiny, glittering slits the color of a stormy sky. "This whole time, after everything we've gone through, this is still just a deal to you, isn't it? You're afraid to cause me displeasure in bed, aren't you? Thinking I might do this with the next tart that comes along, do you?"

His words were harsh, derisive, driven by his pain and disappointment. He had hoped she'd seem him differently than those cretins like Flint and Mulciber. When he had begun to harbor such hopes, Draco didn't know. The only certainty was that the realization she still believed him to be like them had destroyed something deep within him.

As Hermione scrambled backwards, falling silent at his violent outburst, he advanced on her, fists clenched.

"You think I'm some loose lothario that sticks it into anything that walks?"

His face had turned pink as he yelled.

"Go to hell, Granger! You sanctimonious sack of shit! And get out of my sight! Maybe I AM sick of you! Maybe you are just one in a thousand willing to lie down and have me give it to them!"

Draco found himself a mixture of things – angry, disappointed, shocked, confused, and terrified. But none of those raging emotions matched his despair at not being wanted by her. And not being good enough.

Trembling, he took several breaths, and a moment to gather his wayward emotions. He knew he shouldn't have fallen apart, and now it was too late.

"Have you ever considered, for even one, sodding second that I might _care _for you? That I've probably cared for you from the moment I met you in that London slum? You silly, blind, stubborn woman!"

He let out a strange half laugh, his eyes watering.

"I don't sleep with everything that walks, Granger! I didn't want them, I wanted you!"

Then he threw his hands up, and gathered the remnants of his shirt around him.

"But, not anymore, I don't. Not this way, and not without reason."

He turned, and walked out of the room, leaving Hermione half-naked in the shadows. For a long while, she sobbed silently, crumpled against the wall, her face hot and her fingers frozen. Her hear beat dully within her, strange, tiny beats which held no rhythm. Her trembling heart whispered to her that it couldn't be over, that he cared, that he had wanted her, that he-

_Am I blind? Am I mad to believe I might care too? Do we care about each other? Is that it? Can this even be?_

Nothing made sense, but Hermione struggled to stand on her rubbery legs, finding support against the wall by the stairs until she could firmly stand. Then, her eyes traveled to the room where Draco had disappeared.

And she went after him. She stumbled forward, her vision blurred by hot tears. He was not in the main room, and so she moved forward, as if in a fog.

She went after him. She didn't know why her heart hammered so strangely within her chest. She didn't understand the need within her. She couldn't understand why, when he entered the room, she had trouble breathing.

She went after him. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what would happen next, afraid of admitting that she had wanted him to say those words; she had wanted him to care for her.

She went after him. And, when she found him he was watching her, a gleam of wariness in his grey eyes.

And, she faced the strange feelings within her. Feelings that she hadn't felt in a long time, if ever.

"Please, Draco."

He didn't move.

"I can't help what happened. I can't help longing for you, please. Please, don't turn away from me."

He did just that, moving away from her, to the window that overlooked the garden, the blooms of summer long dead. She reached up, put her hand on his.

"I need you, as much as you need me. Don't push me away. You make this world a better place."

Her words were tremulous, and all she could do was hope he believed her.


	28. Chapter 28

_Those of you who got my review replies – know that this__ chapter was rather difficult for me. It's mostly dialogue, and Dramione have to start working out their differences to move into the next arc of this story. Warning – gratuitous sex at the end, since I just felt like writing it. ;) My next update might not be right away; just letting ya'll know! Thanks always for all your support. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT<p>

* * *

><p>For Hermione, time had literally stopped. The air seemed still, the man next to her, immobile and unfeeling. The only thing she could hear was the erratic thumping of her heart, which kept time with the large grandfather clock in the corner.<p>

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick-

"Please, I want to try again."

She couldn't muster much more than a whispered word or two, but Draco did not move, standing rigidly in place.

"Do you? Well, I don't. I already have a woman in my life with me because of an arrangement. I don't need another one!"

Stubbornness was clear in each of his words, which were more petulant than they had a right to be. Hermione was angered at the tone he had chosen, and perplexed at his lack of understanding.

"This isn't easy for me!"

"It should be! After all, it's just a deal to you! I asked you to keep what you and I shared separate from the rest of the world! Apparently, you couldn't do that! First chance you got, you were impossibly quick to buy into whatever rubbish Flint was spewing about me! If that's all that I mean-"

Draco stopped, strangely perturbed by his own words.

Then, Hermione screamed.

"**I tried not to! And I CANNOT!" **

The sudden caliber of her voice startled Draco, and he turned to face her, taken aback by her viciousness. Hermione gazed on him boldly, not daring to breathe, to move, willing him to understand even though she felt like murdering him. Her anger blazed within her, so that she felt it flowing even in her blood, her heart burning and inflamed with it.

He backed away from her for a moment, cocking his head.

"Well, you should try harder then!"

The retort was a poor attempt at a demand, for it sounded small and ragged. Still, it stoked Hermione's internal rage.

"You think I haven't?" she spat. "I can't make sense of you! Of all the things you've done for me, and the risks you've taken! Why? What kind of sense does it make? How can you expect me to trust you?"

Draco's face was completely devoid of color, and though Hermione could see he was trying to come up with a proper Malfoy response, he couldn't. And it pleased her, for it allowed her a moment to continue her tirade.

"For six years I feared men like you!"

She was enraged, currents of burning tears coursing down her face so fast she couldn't wipe them away.

"The Ministry terrified me, and they hunted me like I was an animal! They destroyed any happiness I had ever had! And then, when they took everything they could from me, I ended up at that alienage, branded as nothing!"

Draco stopped her with a wave of his hand, his face white with tension, as if her anger didn't faze him. Hermione could see that he was fighting with himself about something, shuttering himself away from her, and in spite of her anger, she wished he wouldn't.

"You've told me all this! I already know!"

His words were a hiss and his eyes glittering slits of contempt.

She swallowed the bitterness in her hot throat, her whole body itching with anxiety and fear.

"If you know and you really _understood_, you wouldn't even question what's going through my mind!"

She watched as Draco charged across the room like a bull gone wild, standing near the doorway, as if to protect himself from…something. Hermione felt helpless when he spoke, her rage abating slightly as she watched him.

"I never imagined this was easy for you! I know what's happened to your kind all these years! I was a fucking part of it! And you were right, Granger! I AM a coward! Maybe that's part of why we're both in this sodding mess!"

He was trembling, and his eyes were flashing with withheld emotion.

"I saw all that…all the horrible things that they were doing to Mud-to your kind," he managed to choke out. "I was so afraid to go against them, to go against Voldemort, and…after awhile…death isn't so strange anymore, you know?"

Hermione stared at him, stricken. The rage was gone, having left behind it a wake of icy nothingness, which weakened her and caused her to slump. She was shocked at his tone, and the fact that he had made a conscious effort to not use 'Mudblood'. It touched her in ways she hadn't even realized it would.

Sighing, she shook her head, the sadness overwhelming any feelings of gratefulness she might have felt at his attempts at decency.

"No, I don't know."

A tense, heavy silence followed.

"No matter how much death I've seen, I can never…it's never anything but…strange. Abhorrent. Terrible. Confusing."

Each word fell from her lips, shattering against the empty silence. He lowered his head, wincing, and his reply was choked.

"But fear drives more than guilt does. I didn't always _want_ to do what they asked of me, but I feared them more."

"Fear only controls you if you let it!"

He glanced up at her as the silence fell around them once more. Her voice rang out in the room, clear and indignant.

"Such a hypocritical response, Granger, don't you think? After all, that which you won't speak of, the actions you were forced to take at Flint's hand, weren't they driven by fear?"

Hermione was astounded; the silence was deafening. It was hard to argue the point he had made, although she opened her mouth to do so.

"You're pureblood! They couldn't force you to do things you didn't want to! I don't have the luxury! He would have killed me!"

His smile was wan, and his expression one of a disgust filled sympathy.

"And you don't think they'd turn on their own if it suited their purposes?" he mocked. "I though you smarter than that, Granger."

Hermione blinked, swallowing back a nasty, heated reply. She realized she hadn't thought at any length about how the Ministry or Voldemort treated those who had aligned themselves with him.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Why do you think Blaise left Lavender, and put his baby into hiding? Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't hesitate to eliminate what she would consider a smear on Zabini's record. That child doesn't matter to them. And, if Zabini puts up a fight, they'd get rid of him, too. So long as you do as they ask, all is well. We aren't allowed to have feelings, Granger. Emotions are wasted on them. You think that your kind are the only prisoners in this regime? I beg to differ."

"How could you think I didn't fear you, Draco?"

Though she stood firm, there was a slight tremor along the edges of her voice as is faded off. He cleared his throat to speak.

"You knew what I was."

His eyes flickered with uncertainty across her face.

"You knew the things I'd done, and yet, you still…you said I was different, and I had-"

Somehow, what Draco wanted to say seemed impossible, especially because he was faced with her, and those impossibly mesmerizing eyes. She sighed.

"Even knowing you were different, I feared you, Draco."

Her words were whispers and she reached down, rolling up his sleeve, and tracing her fingers along the unsightly Mark that burned across his wrist. Each time she saw it, Hermione wanted to shudder, to whimper in disgust and loathing. He was everything she loathed more than anything in the whole world. And yet, she couldn't loathe him, no matter how hard she tried.

Ginny's warnings echoed in Hermione's ears. Flint's mocking tone taunted the edges of he memories, and she winced, her eyes watering as she gazed at Draco.

"Can you blame me?"

Sighing, he turned from her, though he did not pull away. His eyes were trained on the window, and Hermione saw his jaw twitch.

"So, you never wanted me?"

"I _needed _you. And, _you_ wanted_ me._"

Hermione felt his shudder, but he refused to look down at her.

"So you lied."

He was shocked at his own ridiculousness- after all he had known the truth! But even so, he managed to make the words ring with disdain, for he felt hurt and somehow, he wanted her to feel it as well.

"You knew that!"

Hermione had eerily echoed his thoughts, but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt at the slight in her voice. So, she was hurt.

_Good. Good, she deserves it._

He pushed away from her, holding his head high and cradling his wounded heart.

_What is wrong wi__th me? I know she doesn't deserve this! I'm a bastard._

There was a long silence, and finally Draco found himself speaking, his voice flat.

"I never wanted to blame you for how you feel. I can't begin to imagine, and those others, they don't care to."

Hermione watched as his forearms tensed and his long, beautiful fingers curled into tight fists.

"I'm not like them."

This time, his words were broken, the emotion creeping into them so they were soft whispers of despair.

"But the only thing someone sees when they look at me is Death Eater. So, no, I don't blame you. You have much to hate me for."

He turned around, watching her with a strange, yet curious expression. The words of self loathing were spoken from behind clenched teeth, and as Hermione gazed up at him, she could see true remorse painted in the faint lines of his face.

She stepped forward, offering a hand which he rejected. Then, she sighed.

"I don't hate you, and I know you're not like them."

Because it was the only thing she could offer, she slipped her hand in his.

"I've known it a long time now. The moment I found out you couldn't kill Dumbledore. I thought of it a lot, you know. Later, even. Not all the time, but sometimes. And I've thought about all the things you've done since. For me, and for Ginny and Lily. I know you're not…you could never be like them. It's a hard admission to make, because I've always hated you. And now, I realize that sometimes, things change."

He shuddered visibly, turning his face away from her, feeling a sudden and rather humiliating bout of tears that threatened.

"I was a coward. Voldemort asked me to do one thing, I couldn't even do it! What could be more cowardly?"

The words were so soft, Hermione could hardly hear him.

"No! You were brave. The cowardly thing would have been to kill him, don't you see? Voldemort would have wanted that, and you did the right thing!"

Her emphatic declaration sounded like salvation to Draco's ears. At least, here was someone who hadn't thought him a coward for what he had done – or in his case - not done, that fateful night so many years ago.

It was different, he realized. _She_ was different.

As he stood there, he felt her lean into him, pressing herself against the length of his back.

"I was wrong about you."

Hermione's voice sent shivers down his spine.

"You're not a coward, Draco. You never were."

Draco turned slowly, but held her hand in his own so that it was too easy to wrap her arms around his waist as he held her. She gazed up into his eyes, unable to read the emotion that flickered there.

"My whole life, I've done things I haven't wanted to," he told her, his words uneven.

She watched as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"I've made allegiances to those whom I've hated, and I've learned to abhor that which I don't understand. I've rationalized that which makes no sense and assuaged guilt over and over again by blaming others, by being cruel and unyielding. I've turned a blind eye on a world that's now falling apart around me. All in the name of pleasing the man I called Father, and gaining Voldemort's favor."

Hermione watched in silent fascination as his beautiful silver eyes glimmered over with unshed tears as Draco struggled with something bigger than he was. She wanted to hold him, to make it better, but his expression rendered her helpless. As she watched, his fingers came up to caress her cheek and she shivered at the roughness, though his touch was feather light. Already, he began to weave his spell over her and she could do nothing but succumb.

"But, even if I wanted to change, it wouldn't matter, would it? You were so quick to believe that I was just like Flint."

Hermione pulled away from him, visibly stung.

"You just finished saying you didn't blame me for that!"

"I don't! But that doesn't change a thing, does it?"

The softness in his quicksilver eyes was gone, replaced once more with unrest. Hermione struggled to wrap her mind around his change in mood, and his softened words.

"What's that mean?"

He seemed to grow increasingly perturbed.

"This world, and all it's prejudices, Granger! You think the Ministry is bigoted? What about you Muggle-borns? Aren't you just as quick to judge us?"

"I can't _believe _you'd even say such a thing!"

Her brown eyes flared with injustice and blazed with open disgust.

"After everything that they've put us through you don't think we have a reason for mistrust and resentment? They destroyed my life and took away my family! I say they're evil, and I have that right!"

Passion flared in Draco's eyes.

"But I didn't!" he yelled.

His voice echoed brokenly in the room, startling Hermione.

"And you still choose to lump me in with all the rest, don't you?"

What he was afraid to say, was how much that hurt. Perhaps, he hadn't even been cognizant how much, until that moment. He turned from her, afraid that the tears that had threatened and passed a moment before, would threaten once more.

"I know you've been…kind."

Her reply was small and uncertain.

"You've protected me from Pansy and Marcus the best you could. You've risked your life for me. I'm…so many times I've wondered why."

"I don't know why!"

His tone was ragged, unevenly pitched, the frustration clear.

"I don't know why I've done the things I've done when it comes to you, Granger! God knows I've mulled it over too many hours now, and I can't sodding figure it out!"

Hermione took in a breath.

"Do you…Draco, did you mean what you said? When you said…you might…care for me?"

The words trembled on the edge of emotion and he looked at her – forgetting for a moment everything else except the look of hope in her eyes.

"Would it matter?"

The words were low, resigned.

Hermione's torn and tattered heart beat within her wildly.

"I kept trying to tell myself that this thing between us meant nothing."

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"That I was doing it for Lily, and that you were a despicable, hateful man and I would never be able to feel anything for you. I kept trying to believe that, because it's the only thing that made sense."

She took in a breath, trying to put her own realizations into words.

"But then, you walked away from me, and I…"

She shook her head helplessly, but at the same time, steeled herself with determination her words heartfelt.

"I meant what I said, Draco. I want to try again. I don't want you to walk away from me. You matter to me. What you feel and where you are."

Her gaze didn't waver from his, and for a moment he couldn't speak for he was enamored by her light. Gently, she put her arms around him, and he leaned into her reflexively, for it felt…right.

Hermione lifted her head and gazed up into his face. Draco's eyes followed hers. Her hand ran down his front and then back up along his shoulder to cup his neck. Her hands were so, so warm. Draco closed his eyes, and leaned down slightly so that his forehead was resting against hers. His hands trailed up and down her back in gentle fashion, so that he could feel as much of her as possible. He was suddenly aware of how much he wanted this; how much he wanted yet another memory of holding her so closely.

As Hermione's fingers ran along his neck and stopped to rest there, Draco's head dropped down onto her shoulder, and he turned his face in towards her neck, breathing in her familiar scent, basking in the warmth of her skin. There was no more of anything except what he could feel. Draco's grip on her waist tightened involuntarily, and then his nose brushed against the silkiness of her cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed as he sighed. Hermione moved slightly and he felt as she began to seek his mouth, dropping tiny, butterfly soft caresses against his chin and his jaw, teasing yet shy, but certain all at once. It made his heart gallop and his body tighten. Almost without his own knowledge, Draco's lips began their own search, moving against her cheek, her jaw, too far down along her chin, and the finally found home against her eager, waiting mouth.

When his lips found hers in that incredible moment, his fingers moved up to rest on her jaw, and he shifted so that she fitted perfectly against him. Draco kissed Hermione as if he would never kiss her again, as if eternity was theirs. Their lips touched time and time again, sometimes clinging, sometimes moving, and she pulled him closer as he tangled his fingers in her tousled hair. He was vividly aware of every move she made, each time she took a breath, and the way she felt and tasted.

When they finally pulled apart it was only so that he could look into her eyes. She offered him another one of the smiles that had haunted his dreams for so long. To be granted such a smile was like being graced by heaven.

"So does that mean you want to try again?"

She breathed the words against his mouth. Draco shuddered, awakened in more than one way.

"It's hard to say no when you kiss me like _that, _Granger."

He heard her giggle; it was a most musical sound. He was only half aware of how much he loved the sound of her laughter.

"You didn't answer my question," she murmured, her head on his shoulder, relaxed now, as if all their problems were over.

Draco succumbed to such a fantasy for a moment, them together, trying to make a life in spite of the world that was so quickly hurtling towards chaos.

"Its madness, isn't it? Granger and Malfoy is something I'd never have considered."

She let out another soft laugh.

"No? Not even when I gave you that brilliant punch in our third year at school?"

Draco's eyes had closed and he found himself smiling against her hair at the distant memory.

"Rather impressive, Granger, though I would never have admitted such."

"Of course, after all, it wouldn't do for Granger to one up a Malfoy."

He smirked, and pulled her closer, still. The afternoon had waned into early evening, and Draco wondered where Astoria had gotten to, and if she planned on coming back. Not that he wanted her to.

He was feeling quite content standing in the small sitting room facing the garden and holding Hermione Granger in his arms, knowing his strange feelings were returned.

Hermione wondered briefly what exactly had changed between them, if anything. Feelings hardly had a place in the world where they both existed, and in spite of them, she had still promised herself to him, in every way.

"I should prepare supper, in case she gets home soon."

As she pulled away, Draco felt a profound sense of loss, and a desire to hold onto her.

"She might not. Most nights, after I've left you, the house stays empty all night long."

His response was unemotional and in the shadows of early evening, she couldn't tell what he might have been thinking.

"Where does she go?"

"I don't know."

Hermione hesitated.

"Was it always like this between the two of you? Was there any time in your relationship that you got on well?"

Glad that she had first pulled away from him, Draco turned away from her, as the memory of his son flooded his being.

_Should she even know? What would be the point?_

"Apparently, you don't know anyone who's ever had an arranged marriage? I've told you before, Granger, one's no better or worse than another. My parents wanted me to marry a Greengrass, and I did. Simple as that, and love had nothing to do with it."

Hermione sensed a sharp, darker quality to his words, but wouldn't question it, for his expression was clearly distant. Instead, she sighed, thinking about how sad his life must have been all those years.

He moved to turn on some lamps in the room, and then she wordlessly followed him back to the hallway where they had first started to row. Now, the room had fallen entirely to the looming shadows, and they were only chased away by the flick of Draco's wand as he illuminated the hallway.

"If you don't want supper, then you'll be taking me back now?"

His expression was somber in the dim lighting, but Hermione swallowed at the provocative look in his eyes. He stepped closer, lifting an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to take you back? You've been through so much the last few days. I thought maybe you could stay here. I'll draw you a bath, yeah?"

Hermione was startled at the kindness in his face, even though by now, she was starting to get used to it in spite of the impossibility of it all.

"A bath?"

"Yes, Granger. Involving a tub and water. Soap, too, if you like that kind of thing."

She saw the smirk on his mouth, and blushed fiercely.

"I'm your help! I do work for _you_…not- not the other way around! You don't draw the cleaning girl a bath!"

Her sputtering was endearing and Draco offered a short laugh.

"I offer my cleaning girl whatever she wants."

His voice grew husky.

"All she need do is ask."

The suggestion in his tone was heavy and it awakened Hermione's desires so they swirled deliciously within her even at the way he gazed on her. They were standing in the hallway, and Draco turned on the lights in the bathroom. The white marble and ceramic surfaces sparkled under the glow of the overhead vanity lights. Hermione had to admit that it had been ages since she had soaked herself in any tub, let alone a glorious one like the one she had cleaned for weeks.

"I…."

He gave her a knowing smile, and Hermione felt warm under his gaze, wondering how, after six years of horror, life had given her a sweet respite. In his smile, she saw the acceptance she craved, the safe haven she had long desired.

"Come here," he whispered, opening his arms, and she went willingly, sighing as her eyes closed and she pressed her face into his ruined shirt. Here, she felt herself relax completely, letting his warmth wash over her until she felt utterly protected. This man cared about her; he had not let anything happen to her, and she trusted him. Yes, she trusted him.

Draco's lips found hers in a tender kiss which went on forever. Heart racing, he pulled away, looking into her desire filled eyes, kissing her gently on the mouth before moving towards her neck and then the flesh on her shoulders.

Hermione seemed impatient and yanked him back up to her hot mouth, kissing him, a small sound escaping her, which drove Draco wild. The kissing resumed, and she was sighing against his mouth, her hands increasingly bold, taking a hesitant trip along his arms, down to his hands, and then up under, against his waist, his upper chest, down, down along the front of his decimated shirt, reaching and fumbling with frustration at the buttons which still remained.

He chuckled against her hot lips, and then stopped for a moment, his shaking fingers moving up to his remaining buttons, their heads bumping together as he tried to help her. They both laughed breathlessly, and Draco gave up, too eager to resume the passionate kisses that had ensued, and he hastily ripped at the shirt, buttons flying as he tossed it aside, Hermione's hands replacing the fabric nearly immediately.

Draco's eyes followed her movements, his heart hammering wildly out of control in a way he had never known and believed he would never know again. He gazed into her eyes when she glanced up and Draco thought if he died, he would never have to go to heaven to know what it was like.

Hermione's fingers traced down along his torso, along his chest and to his stomach, and then her mouth followed suit, tongue against his skin, leaving a trail of pleasure behind it which made Draco moan her name. Goosebumps rose up on his skin and he shuddered, lost to everything except what she was doing to him. This time, on this night in the shadows of early evening, it meant more. It was more. It had to be more.

Hermione's fingers undid his trousers and Draco didn't have to be told twice, as he struggled, fumbled out of them, and tossed them aside, his desire for her obvious. She moved to touch him again and he stopped her trembling hands just shy of contact, shaking his head, his eyes locking with hers.

"Not yet," he begged in a guttural way. In one graceful movement he scooped her up, marveling at how light she was, and carried her towards his bedroom, never breaking the torrid kisses between them. He placed her on the bed with the utmost reverence, and gloried in the smile she gave him, as he reached for her, that craving, the insatiable need he always felt for her driving his movements. He undressed her slowly, never taking his eyes away from the beauty before him.

Draco's hands found Hermione's, his lips against her fingers, his mouth on her wrist, the pulse there wild and uncontrollable, and then he trailed up along her arm, on the inside of her elbow, and then on her shoulder, her neck, her chin, and along the swell of her breasts. He reveled in her, playing, nipping, causing her frustration and by the sounds she was making, pleasure as well. When he looked into the depths of her brown eyes, he saw there a look of dissatisfaction and her lips turned down into a pout.

"What's the matter?" he teased then, knowing that what she needed, only he could give her. That knowledge nearly sent Draco over the edge.

"Does something hurt?"

His words were husky and his finger moved up to run along her kiss swollen lips.

"There?" he asked in innocence, as Hermione nearly groaned.

Then Draco leaned in to kiss her fully, slowly, their tongues mating as if they had forever. He adored Hermione with his mouth, dragging the kiss out for as long as he could before pulling away to look into her eyes. She was nude from her waist up, and it took mere seconds for Draco's fingers to find their next destination along the swell of her breasts as he whispered.

"There?"

Hermione groaned and whimpered something before Draco took her into his mouth, and her fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders as she keened incoherently. He nearly fell over with the intensity of what he was feeling, but he never let up loving her this way until she begged him to stop and Draco nuzzled his way back up into the crook of her neck, kissing her there, light, teasing caresses that played along her skin and made their way to her ear.

"Somewhere else, maybe?" he uttered, his voice husky and trembling, even as his fingers trailed along her waist and the tops of her thighs.

Hermione's body was taut, and she jumped towards him involuntarily, letting out a sharp whimper when his finger traced the inside of her thighs. He smiled against her neck and cradled her weight against his own body when she went slack upon his next, most intimate touch. Hermione let out a cry and then Draco felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and realized she had bitten him, and fought to keep his composure.

It took him mere moments to lower Hermione to the bed where he had lain with his wife, but never touched her with even a tenth of the passion with which he touched the woman that gazed up at him in unabashed desire. Draco saw nothing except that _she _was in his arms, that _she_ was accepting his fevered kisses, gazing up into his eyes with her own. That it was _she_…the one he had wanted for so long the nights had become innumerable. Each second sent him deeper into a world where only she existed. There was no before, and there would be no after. There was only _now_.

"My Hermione," he managed, pulling himself away from her long enough to get his focus.

He could see her nod, lean up to claim his mouth with her own, wordlessly acquiescing to his words, the truth of them. She was his.

Draco broke the kiss, took both her hands in his, and rested them above her head, their fingers intertwined. Then, he locked her eyes with his as he began to move forward, to claim her as his own. He moved slowly, although he would never know how long because he had too quickly gotten lost in the ochre depths of Hermione's eyes, watching her like that, seeing her react, the rainbow of emotion that flurried across her face. When he stopped, his body flush against hers; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her face against his neck. He could feel her racing pulse, her slight trembling, how heated her flesh was.

For the first time in his life, Draco believed this was what making love felt like. And he never wanted it to stop.


	29. Chapter 29

_I've gotten several messages in the last two months asking if I was going to offer any background on what's happened to the others in the last si__x years. Here, finally, are some of the answers. If you were reading the gratuitous lovemaking scene from the previous chapter and thinking, 'darn, I wonder what happened to McGonagall,' you don't have to wonder anymore. ;) I'm developing WERA in the next few chapters, and the plot sort of explodes. I apologize for the lack of Dramione; it can't be helped. They are a part of something bigger. In this chapter and the next, there will be character death, so just a warning. I do not plan on killing off any main characters or children, but other than that, well, you've been warned. Oh, and I did change some of the Ministry department names – since Voldie's in charge, and all that. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE<p>

Pansy gripped the letter with both hands, as if wanting to destroy the very paper it was printed on. The Ministry of Magic letterhead taunted her each time she lifted her eyes towards it, the offending black lettering glaring back at her, mocking her with the finality of what was written there.

"Bloody hell!"

The curse echoed in the tiny tea shop where she was meeting Marcus Flint, and Pansy was so angry she didn't notice a pair of striking, dark eyes watching her every move. Indeed, she was so upset she hardly noticed anything around her, but for the official missive she had received from the Ministry just minutes before. She re-read it for the hundredth time.

_Dear Madame Parkinson,_

_Due to the increased necessity for child experimentation at Azkaban, the Ministry requests the return of one Lily Potter who will be sent to the prison without delay. You are required to relinquish the child by the morning of the first day of the coming week. If a child is needed for your personal use, the Ministry will allow you a replacement as soon as is realistically possible._

_Thank you and we apologize for any inconvenience to you or your family,_

_W. Macnair_

_Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_

_Dementor Research Bureau_

_Dangerous Beings Division_

Tossing the letter on the table, Pansy threw herself against the chair, frowning.

"Bloody hell," she spat again, wondering what she would do now.

Lily Potter had been the only bargaining chip in her efforts to secure Draco's eventual affections, and although it had been over two months now, she had been certain that soon enough the stupid Mudblood bitch Granger would have guilt tripped Draco into trading her for the little girl. Pansy knew Granger cared about Harry Potter's heinous offspring more than she cared about herself. Then why-

_He ha__s to have told her! It doesn't make sense otherwise. Certainly, he can't care for her! What's one Mudblood?_

The thought stoked Pansy's slowly burning wrath. She didn't hear the bell tinkling to signal a new arrival, and nearly jumped when she heard his voice.

"Pans, what's got your knickers in a wad?"

Marcus Flint, ever the charmer, dropped himself into the chair opposite Pansy's, giving her an appreciative leer. She wanted to punch him in his troll-like face, but refrained, instead pushing the letter across the table at him.

"This."

Her jaw was clenched as he read it. She wondered for a moment if Marcus could even read; he hadn't been that bright during their school days. She watched as he looked up at her, scratching his head.

"We do need the children."

"I don't bloody care!"

The screech was a bit loud, and lowering her head, Pansy fought for control as she spoke.

"Lily is _mine."_

"Technically, she belongs to the alienage."

"Yes! The alienage which _I_ run!"

"Well, don't throw a wobbly over it, Pans."

"Piss off!"

Marcus leaned back in his chair, a scowl on his face. He had hoped that Pansy would be in a good mood. Though their relationship was nothing if not volatile, her temper and his energy were often conducive to a fair tumble between the sheets, and frankly, that was all he cared about.

"Well, if you have a problem, go see Blaise Zabini. He's the one who requested the transfer. Got an owl about it this morning and Macnair approved. That alienage on the west side of London which Zabini runs is crawling with dirty, Mudblood children, and the truth is we need the bodies."

Pansy studied her fingernails, feigning casualness she didn't feel.

"Blaise, you say?"

She made a strange noise under her breath.

"Never did like him."

She watched Marcus, who sneered.

"Dodgy, he is. Quiet. Macnair is just chuffed to bits over him, though I don't know why. Blaise was his right hand man for awhile in the Department Care and Control, you know. Suck up, I reckon."

Pansy stared out of the window, a tight, pinched expression on her face. Perhaps, he was dodgy, and quiet, and a suck up. But, he was also in charge at the western alienage, just as Draco was in charge of the one on the east side of the city. And, the fact that the two men had been long-time acquaintances was not lost on Pansy, who was possessed of rather paranoid personality, especially when something didn't go her way.

_It would be just like Draco to go behind my back, wouldn't it?_

She gnawed at her lower lip.

_Though I can't q__uite prove it, can I? Bugger!_

"I don't give a toss if he IS smart! He's a bastard, just like the rest of us. Wagging his dick around until some Mudblood is up the doss? Rumor was that he was arse over tit for her, too. This world doesn't make a lick of sense sometimes."

Pansy refrained from rolling her eyes, her irritation making it difficult to have patience with Marcus, who was even mildly irritating on her _good_ days. She kept him around simply because he was good for a little slap-and-tickle. Otherwise, he disgusted her.

She groaned and sat back.

"They never did find the cow he knocked up, did they?"

Marcus grinned.

"No, but there was some bitch for awhile that they suspected. Don't even know if the baby was born, or if it's still alive. He hid it all well, he did."

Disappointment reigned within Pansy, and she groaned. One way to eliminate the problem that was Blaise Zabini would have been to expose all the nasty secrets he had been hiding, but it looked like that was out of the question as well. Digging around wasn't Pansy's forte, and she didn't have that kind of time, anyway. There were too many eyes on her as it was, and to get caught snooping where she wasn't supposed to be would ruin her.

The dark eyes that had been following Pansy from the moment she walked into the tea shop widened now, and there were footsteps from behind, that stopped with a slight hesitation before their owner spoke.

"I have the truth about Blaise Zabini, if you want it."

The voice was clear and confident, and Astoria Greengrass offered Pansy a beautiful, yet calculating smile. Pansy's eyes widened with interest. Life was truly quite serendipitous.

"But, it will cost you."

Pansy groaned. And, annoying.

* * *

><p><em>WERA headquarters, Paddington, London, England<em>

Daisy began to wail lustily just as Padma let Dean Thomas into the rather small flat.

Parvati cradled the baby, whispering to her, trying to soothe her even though she had been grizzling all morning. The door was squeaky and the baby a light sleeper, which was unfortunate for the other occupants of the flat. But none would ever complain; this was their life now, it was what they had chosen.

Parvati gazed out of the window at the courtyard below, with the cement walk and sorry looking trees. Beyond that, the gray skyline illuminated nothing but worn down buildings and loose women walking along the main drag, looking for their daily coin. She shuddered inwardly, shushing little Daisy as she rocked her until the baby fell back into sleep. Turning her dark eyes away from the dismal view, Parvati put Daisy back into her crib, and then moved to join her sister and Dean, who were in the main room.

In spite of the darkness and misery life had dealt them, somehow Dean's smile showered them with a bit of joy, as did the weekly allowances of money that Daisy's father would send with WERA, consisting of one hundred galleons, ever week, without fail. It was enough to buy food and clothing for Daisy, and food for herself and her sister, Luna and her twin boys. Even though the flat was uncomfortably cramped for three grown women, a baby and two growing boys, it was still better than some of the deplorable conditions in which their neighbors lived.

No, life wasn't entirely horrid, though Parvati had never imagined that she would ever live the way she was living now. But she would do it, because Lavender had always been her best friend. And because, the other choice was to side with the Ministry, and that was no choice at all.

That day, when she emerged from the bedroom that Daisy shared with the boys, Dean's face was unusually grave, and it tugged at Parvati's heartstrings. She realized how much she had relied on Dean's natural happiness, and how much drearier life seemed without his smile. There was a similar, helpless look in Padma's dark eyes.

"How many died?"

Her tone was tight and she twisted a dark lock of her hair around her finger distractedly.

"Lor' love a duck. They captured a dozen of us. Dementors, I heard."

Padma sighed.

"How'd you hear that?"

"They were talking 'bout it at the pub, a day later. Some of those Minis'ry officials 'ave lips looser than the birds who 'ang around these parts."

He offered a smile, but both women could tell it was a weak attempt. Parvati felt a flutter of fear within her heart.

"You should be careful, Dean. It's not safe out there, especially for half-bloods like you and Seamus. You're the one who risks getting caught each time you come here, to check on us and bring us money. I hate to say it, but they _should _send a pureblood."

She folded her arms across her small chest and studied him firmly, her dark eyes unyielding. This caused the lanky man to throw his head back and laugh.

"Now, that's funny!"

This time, his smile was more genuine.

"Crikey! I grew up one street away from Cheapside. Nuff said. Never was a truer Cockney, if I do say so myself. And we know how to take care of ourselves, don'tcha worry none."

Though his words were meant to be light and assuring, the look on the Patil twins' faces were nothing if not grave.

Sighing, Parvati moved to the tiny kitchen to offer their weekly guest something to drink.

She spoke, unable to look at him.

"No one escaped?"

"About six of us, yeah? But then, there was a fight. It didn't go so well, know what I mean?"

They didn't. That was, until he told them. And it was worse than the twins had imagined.

* * *

><p><em>WERA headquarters – East London, England<em>

Seamus knelt on the hard ground, holding Oliver Wood's arm out. The other man had turned his face away from the sight of the blood and the strange way his bone was protruding from the general vicinity of his elbow. And, it bloody _hurt. _Sweat had broken out over his face and even though Seamus was trying to crack jokes, it was impossible not to think of the excruciating pain. But at least, he had survived. He couldn't say that for-

"Hold still."

The gentle yet firm voice of Poppy Pompfrey rang out in the stifling room. Oliver did, wincing as he felt her touch him.

Behind them, Minerva McGonagall stood surveying the situation, her face pinched and her lips pressed in a thin line. Her eyes flickered from Madame Pompfrey, Oliver and Seamus, to a very white-faced Hannah Abbot, who lay unconscious on the worn sofa nearby, and finally to the quiet sobs of Penelope Clearwater, who was curled up in the far corner, against a wall covered with faded, flowery wallpaper.

"It was too early, Mr. Finnigan. We should have waited."

Her words were hushed, but stern, and Seamus looked up, his eyes flickering with annoyance for a moment. He didn't know why it was; he respected Minerva very much, as they all did. Perhaps it was that he was no longer a boy in school, and therefore didn't take well to reprimands from a former Transfiguration professor. Or, it was simply that all his meticulous planning had gone by the wayside because the plans he had concocted to break the Muggle-borns out of Blaise Zabini's alienage had gone so terribly wrong. He had known that they could only help some of them; there were far too many to help them all. But, he had hoped at least _some _would have managed to escape. As it was, none had, and on top of that, WERA had lost some of their own.

And more than just one or two.

Seamus had hardly any patience to spare, even for a woman whom he very much admired. Clenching his teeth, he spoke.

"I trust Blaise, sure."

"Be that as it may," continued Minerva, "he is not the one who has lost a dozen compatriots, as well as suffering a multitude of injuries. Once Poppy sets Mr. Wood's arm, she must help Miss Abbot, and Mr. Macmillan. And, we nearly lost Filius! Each day he becomes more and more infirm! This war has taken a toll on the strongest men, and I'm just…I don't know anymore."

She was shaking her head, just as Kingsley walked into the room, and Seamus was silently relieved. It was often that Kingsley was able to talk Minerva down when she got this way.

"Blaise is one of us, Minerva, no matter his current situation."

He watched the room in sad silence.

"He provides us with funding, and we owe him much."

Minerva gazed at Kingsley with slight reproach.

"What we need is greater numbers, and we'll never have those if we keep running around higgledy-piggledy the way we have!"

Seamus stood up, wiping the dust from the ground onto his trousers.

"He's got a baby with Lavender! She be one of us, sure! He's got no reason to turn on us!"

Minerva sighed as Kingsley put a large hand on her thin shoulder.

"All I'm saying is that I think we should wait and regroup before trying again."

Seamus looked determined.

"I will in me brown!"

Sighing, the older woman turned around, looking at Kingsley.

"How are the boys?" she asked in a low voice about James and Albus, and Kingsley frowned.

"They could use some company. They don't know yet, but once they do…"

She nodded, licking her lips.

"I'll go sit with them awhile, then. The other night I had them entertained by changing the color of their toys." She offered a sad, tired smile. "I suppose we all need a distraction."

The others in the room watched the matronly witch walk through the doorway and disappear, and no one said anything for a few moments, the only sound being Penelope's soft sobbing.

Kingsley spoke first.

"I hate to disagree with Minerva, Mr. Finnigan. That night was all tomfoolery. It could have been much worse. As it is, it's bad already. What happened?"

Seamus sighed.

"They missed by a hair, they did. I thought Dean and I were goners, sure! And the others…"

He shuddered.

"I thought the Ministry be dense as bottled shite, but their aim is bang on. I was so scared, I nearly shit me cacks!"

Kingsley sighed.

"I should have given you reinforcements."

Seamus shook his head, avoiding both Kingsley's and Oliver's gazes. His face was one of misery.

"Nah, then more would have kicked the bucket, to be sure. I made a right hames of the job, didn't I?"

Kingsley felt a washing of sympathy for the younger man before him, and he moved to put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're all doing the best we can."

Behind them, Hannah stirred on the couch and then lay still, and Penelope sobbed a bit louder as Oliver watched her helplessly. All else was still.

"Come on then, we should help the others outside."

Beyond the dirty windows, Dennis and Colin Creevey were digging two deep holes, lifting dirt with rusted shovels, and clearing out a space. Terry Boot stood to the side, moving the dirt away, and none of them spoke to each other. Kingsley and Seamus left Poppy with the hurt and wounded, as they made their way into the autumn afternoon.

The sun beat down on all of them as they prepared to bury Arthur and Percy Weasley.

* * *

><p>All had gone silent in the tiny teashop as Pansy looked down at the information that Astoria had just given her.<p>

"Where did you get this?"

Her voice was sharp and criticizing. Astoria cocked her head, offering a smirk.

"What's it matter? It's what you need, is it not?"

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"I can't use it if I can't confirm it, you gormless bint!"

Astoria took a step back, snatching the papers away before Pansy could react, causing her to scowl in frustration.

"Well, then, I suppose you can't use it then, can you?"

The striking woman lifted a perfectly groomed brow. Pansy grumbled something unintelligible under her breath and then stood to face Astoria. Her face white with frustration, she stiffly reached out for the paperwork.

"Fine, I won't ask where you got it," she ground out, each word a difficulty, and Astoria offered a simpering, satisfied smile.

"I'm glad you see it my way," she continued, moving to hand Pansy the papers.

She stopped short of the other woman's outstretched fingers.

"Remember, it will cost you, though."

Pansy clenched her teeth.

"What do you want?"

Astoria's eyes were deadened.

"I want to know what my husband is doing with that Mudblood bitch he took in as our house girl. I can't ask him myself, because I have an image to uphold and insecurity is not part of that."

Her words were clearly vain, and Pansy wanted to laugh in her face. If Astoria was so blind and stupid that she couldn't see Draco was probably getting his end away with a Mudblood behind her back, well then…

_I can't help this bint. She's hopeless. It's rather ironic, though. She must care__ for Draco to some degree if she's going to this length to learn of what he's been doing. I wonder if she'll be peachy if I happen to steal him from right under her perfect, ickle nose?_

Grinning, Pansy offered a musical laugh.

"You've got yourself a deal, Astoria. Give me what I need now, and I'll give you want you want later. I'm sure if there's anything going on between him and that Mudblood, I can find out for sure."

Astoria gave a hesitant nod and then reluctantly handed over the papers which Pansy fisted tightly and handed over to Marcus who was still sitting behind them. Then, she offered her hand to shake with Astoria's. Two sets of dark eyes met over their clasped hands.

The deal was made.

* * *

><p>The autumn breeze brought with it a sense of finality, and all around the two small mounds of fresh earth stood the remainder of WERA's organized forces, at least those who had been at the house near the Thames. Here, it was quiet. In the distance one could hear the faint sound of honking cars and if listening hard enough, the rushing of the river. Leaves fell from the trees along the small property, littering the dying grasses with brilliant bursts of color. Oranges, reds, browns and yellows fluttered down around them as Kingsley spoke a few muted words.<p>

Cho Chang and Michael Corner stood nearest the trees, and Ernie Macmillan had his good arm around Penelope, who sobbed into his shoulder, tears of bitter sadness and despair. Her love for Percy had been unspoken, but just as real as anything else in the cruel, mad world. On the other side, nearest to Filius and Kingsley, the Creevey brothers stood with Terry, their faces masks of despair. Seamus stood on Kingsley's other side, his head down. Oliver, whose arm was now in a gray sling, had helped Katie Bell and Lee Jordan move Hannah's chair, for she had been too weak to stand, but still wanted to be there in remembrance of their fallen comrades. Luna had arrived, breathless as usual, but offering her soft words of encouragement all the same. Most of the others had gotten used to her often nonsensical ramblings, and had begun to find them comforting. It helped that her two sons, as identical to their mother as they were to each other, seemed to always bring their own innocent joy into any situation. Lorcan and Lysander, though having lost their own father to the war, had not been stripped of their innocence.

As everyone gathered around the plot of land, the boys ran around the side of the house, looking for James and Albus. Minerva had stayed behind to watch the younger ones.

Filius lifted his hands towards the sky, uttering protective charms under his breath, his fingers trembling due the pain he had gone through and his getting up in years. At the same time, Kingsley lowered his head, and began to speak in a low but commanding voice.

"In all things there is debt to be paid. It comes in many forms – money, time, loss of dignity, of peace, of status, and even of life. We must remember that in war, there is victory, but there is death. Even though it comes with pain and the sense that nothing will be the same again, we must remember those who have died, and that they did not die in vain. This is our battle, and we must see our ultimate goal and not how we have gotten there."

All stared down at the earth where Percy and Arthur had been laid to rest.

"Today, we remember two men who were not only extraordinary wizards, but good friends. We remember a man who raised children, who doted on his wife, and his grandchildren. We remember a man who was strong, steadfast, smart, and willing to recognize his mistakes and ask for forgiveness. He was an uncle, a friend, and would have made a good husband."

Penelope whimpered; her sobs were muffled against Ernie's shirt.

"We grieve loss of life taken from us too early. We cannot understand, and yet, we are asked to accept."

In the distance, Minerva walked along the periphery of the property, holding the hands of Harry Potter's boys, trying to distract them from the stark devastation around them, to offer her own brand of comfort.

Kingsley's voice carried on the breeze, as they all clasped hands.

"But in spite of all this, let us not forget that - even though we have lost loved ones, and will continue to do so until this war is over – we have each other. We have found new kinship and a new goal, and in this cold and lonely world, we can turn to those around us for support."

Minerva stood watching the horizon over the small sloped hill that bordered the property of the headquarters, as four boys walked ahead of her, along the grassy edge.

_Let them never feel what we have felt. Let this be over soon._

She could only hope.

James was speaking to his younger brother and Luna Scamander's twin boys, who were listening attentively.

It was something about his father and seeing him again one day, for James talked of it often. He was wiser than his years – a boy so much like his father had been. The loss of Harry and the separation from their mother and Lily had caused Albus to develop a reclusive streak. The young boy hardly ever spoke, unless spoken to, and hadn't taken an interest in anything in months, save for the occasional moment when he could be distracted. Having their grandfather and uncle back in their lives had helped a touch, but the cruel world had taken another nasty swipe at them, and now the boys had only each other.

What a sad world it was indeed.

"Daddy can see us, you know."

Albus blinked.

"All the time?"

"Sure, I think. And Gramma Molly, too. Plus, now, Grandpa will see us."

"And Unca Percy?"

"I think so."

There was a silence. One of the blond twins spoke up, and it took Minerva a moment to determine that it was Lorcan, who was slightly taller and a bit heavier than his brother, Lysander.

"Mama says you'll get to see the Thestrals now."

Lysander, the quiet one, nodded at first, but then spoke up.

"Big black horses, with these huge wings! Mama says we can see them 'cause we saw daddy die."

Albus looked over at the twins curiously.

"Do you think your daddy is with my daddy?"

The twins nodded. James put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Probably. But, we won't know 'til we get there."

Minerva half listened to the conversation between the four boys, and she was reminded for a flash of another four boys whom she had mentored so long ago. All gone now, she realized with a frown. Those years had been happy, bright ones for them, and even now, knowing what would happen to them, the joy of that time was not diminished.

She fought a bout of tears and raised her wrinkled hand to her mouth and turned so that the young boys wouldn't see her pain. She took a moment to gather herself, and just as she did so, there were footsteps behind her and a tug on her long, plaid skirts.

It was Albus, gazing up at her with large, brown eyes.

"Missus McGoggal, can you do the thing with the flowers again?"

She had to chuckle at her name on the lips of a little boy, and though she was no longer young, she managed to lower herself to the ground, the boys surrounding her. And just as she had done each day since the leaves had begun to fall, Minerva lifted her wand and the falling leaves became flowers, floating on the autumn breeze.

This, she could do to bring at least a bit of joy to the lives of four boys too young to have been burdened with the weight of a cruel world.

* * *

><p>Pansy watched as Astoria took a step back, and pushed thick handfuls of glorious, dark hair off her shoulders.<p>

"You needn't worry about the authenticity of what I just gave you," she said coolly, gathering her coat and handbag to leave. "I found all that in my husband's study. It's all very real, you see."

Pansy tried to hide the anxiousness she felt, for she wished Astoria would leave her to the papers. Her fingers nearly trembled over them. The fact that life had handed her such rare treasure in a moment of utter hopelessness had truly been…well, not a blessing, she knew. Blessings did not exist. But, perhaps, it was sheer luck. And even a girl down on her luck had a brilliant streak once in a while, she reckoned.

"It's quite fortuitous then," she replied evenly, waiting for Astoria to finish what she had started.

"Remember," said the beautiful woman, "if you don't hold up you end of the bargain, I'll make sure this whole city knows you're the one who brought down Blaise Zabini. And, that's a promise."

Pansy's face twisted into a sneer, and she battled against nasty, biting words that begged to be spoken.

_You plastic, doll-like bitch! I'll cut you!_

"Of course."

The words she spoke were strangely cool. Astoria hesitated and then with a nod, she was gone, and Pansy stared at her retreating form, the way she carried herself so effortlessly and the expensive looking dress and matching robes she was wearing.

The moment that followed Astoria's departure found Pansy weak-kneed from an onslaught of emotions. She barely managed to sink into her chair, still gripping the papers which would ensure Blaise Zabini's demise within the Ministry.

"You look peaky, Pans."

Marcus' unnecessary observation rang in Pansy's ears, but it was muddled by ringing and her hammering heart. She thought she would faint, and fought with the feeling of light-headedness.

"I'm fine," she lied.

But, she wasn't. Looking down, trembling fingers pushed and lifted paper after paper, and she devoured the information with a nearly manic hunger as if it would disappear if she didn't read it _right now._

She found herself at first shocked and then somehow irritatingly impressed with how long Blaise had been pulling the wool over the eyes of the Ministry. The baby had been born; it was a little girl. Six months old, and healthy. He was seeing her as often as he could, and giving money towards her care. And, as far as Pansy could tell, he still held a candle for the mystery Mudblood with whom he had taken to bed.

"There's even an address!"

Her gasp was barely audible as Pansy glanced up, her eyes wide. Though she felt her extremities were icy cold, only Marcus could see the color had drained from her face and that she looked positively stricken.

Yes, it was all there.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

The question was posed as a hiss, and her eyes were too-bright, almost feverish in the dim lighting of the small room.

"If someone finds out, Zabini's gets sacked, he does."

Pansy sat back, feeling weak, as she thought of Draco.

_All this time! He's been keeping that sodding secret this whole time! _

She couldn't help feeling somewhat impressed in spite of herself.

_He's playing both sides, isn't he? Thick bastard doesn't know what's coming to him and Zabini both._

For a moment, Pansy felt a strange stirring of guilt within her belly. It sat there like the remnants of a meal gone bad. She felt nothing for Zabini, one way or another, but she loathed the idea of having Draco involved.

_Maybe, if I play my cards right…_

Distracted by thought she didn't want to be having, Pansy gazed out of the window at the early morning light. Then she sighed and glanced at Marcus, wondering if he had ever thought what the world would be like if Voldemort hadn't won. She realized that there were moments of weakness, of doubt, of wishing that the world was the way it had been before. Back when her parents were still alive, and she was just a schoolgirl at Hogwarts. It had all seemed so _simple,_ hadn't it? Back then, her biggest worries had been if she would pass her O.W.L.'s in Potions, or if the silver in her dressing robes would match the green in Draco's shirt.

Now…

Her eyes watered and she closed them against the threatening storm of tears. Pansy didn't cry often and there was no way in bloody hell she would allow anyone, not even Marcus, to see her weakness.

"You sure you're all right, Pans? You look right-"

"I told you to piss off!"

The brutish man fell silent, a scowl on his face, and Pansy stood with a newfound determination. The truth was that the world was not what she had hoped it would be. The placid dream of settling down and having a family was as dead as her parents and the rest of the silly dreams she had indulged in as a young girl. No, this world was ruthless and cruel and she would refuse to let it control her. She was Pansy Parkinson. She was first in command to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And, most importantly, she fought for what she wanted.

_And I'll have it._

She refused to relinquish the only chance she had to manipulate Draco into her bed, and that meant bringing down Blaise Zabini.

"Well?"

Marcus stood.

"What?"

"We're going to see Dolohov. He's in charge of the Executioners. And I'm going to need a few once we get to that flat in Paddington. I'm going to get that baby. And expose Blaise Zabini."

Then, without another word she spun on the heels of her boots and left the shop, her jaw clenched and shoulders squared.


	30. Chapter 30

_Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to review the previous chapters and__ for all your comments (both positive and negative)! I'm very much interested in your thoughts as I continue into this, because I've gotten so many different comments and viewpoints. Some, I think might not like what is coming. Warning – character death. And yes, Dramione are living in a bubble. Soon to break._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY<p>

* * *

><p><em>Paddington, London, England<em>

Autumn had unleashed her cold and windy wrath upon London, and Blaise clung to his long black overcoat and hat as he hurried along the busy walk, away from the bus station. He supposed that apparating would have been quicker, but lately he had taken to blending in with all the other Londoners. What the Ministry would call being a coward, or 'catering to the Mudbloods'. But Blaise believed in his heart that catering to the Muggles and Muggle-borns was starting to become more and more preferable than the damning alternative.

Another gust of wind nearly made away with his hat, and he reached up to keep it from flying off his head, just as a little girl ran down the walk, chasing after her own hat, a white and red thing with a long, flowing ribbon. He watched it tumble and float with the wind and reached down to snag it from the ground just as the girl reached him.

"May I please have my hat, sir?"

She was well spoken and of polite breeding, and in spite of his bad mood, Blaise offered a smile, crouching down to take a better look at her. The child was storybook beautiful, with cherubic, pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes framed by endless blonde curls.

"You may," he replied and placed atop the angelic crown of hair just as her mother reached them, offering a thankful smile and breathless greeting.

"Thank you. Mighty windy out here, yeah?"

"Indeed," replied Blaise standing and offering the woman a smile in return. He watched as the young mother and her angelic child hurried away, and disappeared into the crowd. The scene was picturesque for a moment, as the wind died down, for the sun shone brilliantly in the morning sky, and the street was busy with people heading to work or on their daily errands.

Taking only another glance, Blaise turned and continued on his way, a strange ache in his heart. The little, unnamed girl had reminded him of Daisy, and each time he though of his own daughter, Blaise felt a mix of joy and despair. Sometimes, the joy was so intense, he couldn't breathe, and his whole world was filled with infallible light. And other times, when he was away from his family, the two loves in his life, the despair weighed on him, mocking him and willing him not to break down and cry.

Thus had been his life for months, even before his baby had been born.

Since Voldemort's takeover of the Ministry and everything thereafter, Blaise had found himself living a life that he had no longer recognized, and, after awhile, a life he no longer wanted. Nothing had made sense and nothing seemed justified. At the beginning he had given Voldemort his support, for the man's vision had been something Blaise could understand. Something he had been able to embrace. He had believed strongly that a unified front was necessary, and that a group of like-minded individuals could do great things. Unfortunately greed and bias had twisted the minds of the ones in charge, and had destroyed what could have been a brilliant future. Now, too many were hopeless, too many strewn out with no future and no way to survive. Too many were looked at as abominations and used, abused and tossed to the wayside like rubbish. Though Blaise knew that in any society, some flourished and some struggled, in _this_ world, Voldemort's world, he suspected that there was no sympathy and consideration for any of those who did not agree with him or the twisted vision that he had.

Yes, Blaise believed himself better than many, but he also believed that _any_ man or woman deserved a chance. Bloody hell, it was the least that could be offered them!

Frowning, he lowered his head into his coat as he hurried across the busy street towards an alleyway that led to a row of abandoned, run-down brick buildings.

Though the world had quickly begun to make no sense, Blaise had realized that one thing was clear; he was in love with Lavender Brown. That realization had been easier to make than trying to understand _why._

It wasn't like he had always found her attractive! In school, all he could remember was that she had been one of the annoyingly effervescent blonde Gryffindors, interested only in boys and fashion and whatever was on the cover of the sodding Witch Weekly magazine. She had been prone to a rather annoying laugh and unfortunately blessed with round, rosy cheeks and a mess of golden hair which had reminded him of the fairy story Goldilocks. He had wanted nothing to do with her, or her silly gaggle of girlfriends. Though, looking back on it now, Blaise realized that for someone he had believed he loathed, he had spent too much time thinking about her.

Then, _that _night had happened. The night of his promotion at the Ministry and too many shots of vodie at the pub, and she had been there, just as he remembered her. Perhaps, she had been thinner, and her eyes had reflected a woman who had been through too much and had lost all innocence. The lines on her face had shown her past, the pain and struggles she had endured. She no longer laughed, and the voice which had whispered in his ear had been sultry, knowing. She had come onto Malfoy, had made eyes with Flint. She would have, and probably had been with so many before him.

And, he had found her breathtaking.

Blaise had never, until that moment, known a woman as determined and brazen as Lavender. Life had taken everything from her, and she had not rolled over and let it happen, instead, using what she had left to her advantage, and in an attempt at survival. It was that which had drawn him to her, and though he had believed it would be one night, he had been oh, so very wrong.

He had fallen in love with her.

She was difficult, stubborn, often petulant and impossibly whiny. But, beneath that, Blaise knew a woman who was brilliant – who took the hits life dealt out and used them in any way she could. He knew her to be tenacious and wily, sweet, and caring.

And she had given him a child; it was a gift that he would never be able to thank her enough for. Daisy was his only joy.

Between two of the buildings stood a cement wall and Blaise paused before it, removing his wand, tapping it four times and muttering something under his breath. The bricks melted away revealing a stairwell and he slipped through the small entryway and hurried upwards.

He recalled, a night so many months before, when Lavender had whispered to him that he had saved her. Blaise believed she had meant what she said; he knew though, that it was the other way around. In a world that was swirling towards the unknown, and taking with it those who were too weak to survive, she had saved him.

At the top of the stairs, there was a door. Here, Blaise paused before pushing it open.

* * *

><p><em>Kensington, London, England<em>

The soft howling of the wind awoke her, and Hermione stirred, opening her eyes. Beyond the windows of Draco's suite the morning sky was a brilliant blue and the leaves that remained on the trees shivered. The autumn had touched them with beautiful oranges and reds. Within the bed, she felt warm and safe, and the flashes of the previous night in Draco's arms warmed her. She was wanted; he cared about her.

_He cares about me!_

Hermione couldn't explain the profound thrill that filled her at the thought and she smiled to herself. As she shifted in the bed – _his_ bed – she felt his solid, warm body against hers, and realized that this time, after their coupling, he had stayed. All the other times, Hermione had remembered him getting up, moving away from the bed, as if ashamed of what he had done. It had left her cold and shaken.

But now, she turned her head on the soft, cotton pillow and took a moment to gaze on him.

Draco lay in repose, breathing deeply, one hand across his face, and the other next to her, his fingers brushing just the side of her hip. She shifted, and propped herself up on her elbow, taking those few moments of silence to admire the man who slept next to her.

He was strong, and brave. He was a man who was rough beneath the veneer of polished refinement that he allowed the world to see. He felt pain and uncertainty just like she did. And underneath the cold, hateful persona was a man who could be tender, and sweet. A man who made her feel a thousand things, and knew how to touch her a thousand different ways. Hermione didn't know how to feel, and what to think. All she knew was that with Draco, she felt safe.

She reached up, gentle fingers brushing the silky strands of his white-blond hair away from the smoothness of his forehead. She felt him shift and sigh before settling once more. Her fingers trailed curiously along his perfectly straight nose, admiring the dips and planes of a profile that shouldn't have been so perfect. His lips were soft, silky too, as her fingers glided along his mouth down to his chin. She realized that maybe her bigotry had blinded her to the fact that the man next to her was beautiful; perhaps cold and uncertain, hesitant and frightened sometimes, but still beautiful, both inside and out.

Just as Hermione lifted her fingers from their contemplative caresses, he reached up, clasping her wrist firmly and bringing those fingers to his lips.

"Having fun, Granger?"

His greeting was a husky, sleepy utterance, and it sent shocks of sweet desire through Hermione.

"I…I was just thinking."

He turned his head, those gray eyes taking her in, and she realized that she could easily lose herself in their murky depths and be blissfully oblivious to the rest of the dreary world.

"About what?"

His fingers reached down, running through her loose, cinnamon-caramel waves.

"Breakfast," she lied, uncertain if she was ready to share her tumultuous thoughts with him quite yet. And, his fingers were causing a delightful distraction from her thoughts.

"What do you feel like?"

She thought of porridge with butter and a touch of honey, just the way he always took it. She thought of pastries loaded with sweet cream cheese, and she thought of-

His mouth was against her lips, completely obliterating her train of thought with tender, sweet insistence. Sighing, she melted and felt Draco's body brush against hers, causing a shiver down her spine and desire bubbling up from within the core of her.

Hermione moaned, a keening sound, and pressed herself against him with more insistence. She felt him chuckling against her wanton mouth.

"Hmm…perhaps it's not so much what I want, is it?"

His fingers ran down the vast expanse of her silken flesh.

"Does my little cleaning girl need something?" he purred, and Hermione opened her eyes in time to see his sultry smile.

"Oh, yes."

She closed her eyes again, the words a throaty, needy whisper. It was just what he did to her, she realized. For those moments that she spent in his arms, basking in his warmth and the gentleness of his touch, no matter how brief, always served to be her shelter. When he touched her, it didn't matter who she was, or the fact that he was her enemy.

It didn't matter that in another lifetime, or any other situation, they would have never known one another. When he touched her, she simply wanted. And, why not, she asked herself? Life was no longer abundant with joy, and she would take compassion, caring, and oblivion where she could find it. And she had found it with Draco Malfoy.

"Please."

He knew what she needed, and soon enough she forgot everything but him.

* * *

><p>Antonin Dolohov stood in the alleyway of the abandoned building only minutes after Zabini had slipped beyond the magic barrier.<p>

"Tricky, tricky," he whispered.

Flanked on either side by two masked and hooded officials, he smirked. To his right stood Rabastan Lestrange, and to his left, Fenrir Greyback.

"Going in, boss?"

His statement was more of a growl; Fenrir hardly ever spoke like a man any longer, opting instead to embrace the animalistic side of himself. His words reflected a long seeded hunger.

Dolohov's lip curled.

"The baby is paramount, but if you can incapacitate Zabini, do it. Anyone tries to protect them is to be destroyed."

He lifted and tapped his wand against the solid brick, muttering the incantation Parkinson had given him only an hour ago.

"Go," he said as the bricks faded, revealing the way in.

* * *

><p><em>South London, England<em>

It was deathly quiet in the flat.

Pansy could hear every beat of her hammering heart as she stared at herself in the mirror that hung on the plain, beige wall of her bathroom. In fact, everything in the flat was plain and simple; she was not a woman who took to fancies.

Behind her, there was no sound, though she knew the little girl who had occupied the four room establishment was only in the closet where she had been keeping her for all that time. She hardly ever left, or ever made a sound. It was odd for someone so young, that the girl had never whimpered, hardly ever cried or asked for a thing. She took her meals in silence, obeyed completely, and behaved like a child far older than her years.

Pansy wondered how old the little girl was, and then decided it didn't matter. Once again, she glared at herself in the mirror.

The woman reflected there was pale and terrified looking. A sheen of sweat had broken out over the bridge of her pug-like nose and across her wide forehead, and her eyes were too-bright against the grayish color of her skin.

She licked her lips and then heaved a sigh, the sound ragged in the silent air.

_What am I doing here? Why am I not with Dolohov?_

What petrified Pansy more than her own cowardice was the fact that she didn't know what she was doing home, in her flat, terrified of what was happening in Paddington, when she should have _been _there all along. Her eyes were round as the stared at her reflection hatefully.

_Am I a coward or am I a woman of power, just like Bellatrix Lestrange? _

Hot tears of shame filled her eyes, and Pansy Parkinson dropped her head, a pounding assaulting her temples, like the sound of an ancient, eternal drum.

_Coward._

She could have stayed, but she hadn't.

_Coward._

But if Zabini knew she was somehow involved…?

_It's counterproductive. To get Draco, I have to make sure that Blaise no longer holds any power within the Ministry, don't I? If he knew it was me who snitched –surely he'd run to Draco and then-_

Still, the whisper in her heart called her a coward. And she hated it. Behind her a strange, padding sound could be heard and when Pansy turned, the little girl stood watching her. She said nothing, her face a pale, blank slate framed by that unsightly red-brown hair that fell far below her thin shoulders.

Pansy fought against the hot tears, willing herself be calm, authoritative. It was downright creepy the way the tiny bint watched her, green eyes wide.

_Eyes like Potter's. Strange, how some things__, no one ever forgets._

"Get back in your closet, girl."

The words were strange and strangled. The little girl only blinked, but did not move. Pansy wanted to hex her, to lift her wand and punish her the way she had punished Hermione Granger. She wanted to, but she _couldn't._

_Coward._

"I told you to get-"

The front door to her flat opened and then slammed shut with a cantankerous bang.

"Oi, Pans, I thought I'd-"

Marcus stopped short when he saw Pansy glaring down at the pretty little girl that framed her bathroom door.

"Oh, are we having a jolly party?" he said leering first at Pansy and then back at the little girl.

With a sneer, he crouched down next to the child.

"I hear you're goin' to Azkaban, you are. Mighty fun there," he said with a mocking laugh.

The little girl shivered slightly, but nothing on her pale face changed, not a twitch, not a tear. She stared straight ahead, her jaw trembling. Once more, Pansy wondered in awe at how a child so young had such discipline.

_Just a child!_

The thought irritated Pansy for she wasn't supposed to give a damn was she? The bint was a means to her end, and she would get what she wanted!

Marcus reached over to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across the child's forehead with his dirty, fat fingers. The look on his face was positively disgusting and suddenly, Pansy reacted, swallowing back bile.

"Don't touch her," she hissed, moving quickly, pushing Marcus out of the way with one move.

He, being the clumsier one, stumbled backwards, his black eyes widening.

"What the-"

She lifted her wand point blank at his face, her own jaw clenching.

"Get away from the girl."

The words were hard and there was no mistaking the finality in them, which made Marcus raise an eyebrow.

"Something's dodgy with you today," he commented and she poked him hard with the end of her wand, causing him to stumble backwards again.

Standing between him and the child, Pansy yanked on the child's shoulder.

"Get. In. Your. Closet."

Each word was icy and pronounced, and with a whimper the tiny girl moved backwards into the room and Pansy shut the door behind her, hard. Then, heart pounding, she turned on Marcus.

"You disgust me!"

Her eyes were glittering slits, and her wand remained aloft.

"I only just touched her!"

"You're filthy! What do you think this is? She's a little girl, for bloody Merlin's sake! You sick fuck!"

"Relax, Pans! It's not like she's anything! I wasn't planning on doing anything at all!"

He offered a braying laugh, and Pansy wanted to vomit.

"Get out of my fucking flat!"

"Oh, come on! You're overreacting!"

"GET OUT!"

Marcus snorted, his tone turning sarcastic.

"Playing high and mighty are you? Think you're better than me with all your virtues and morals? Last I recall, you're the one who forced an innocent child to live in a closet and be ignored for months so that you can fulfill some sick fantasy you have of winning over Malfoy? What's with him, anyway? Does he have a golden prick or something that every cow I see on the street wants him?"

Pansy reacted, disgusted with Marcus, but mostly with herself.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Marcus' wand flew out of his hand and clattered against the worn, wooden floor behind him.

"You dumb bitch!"

"Get out of my flat!"

She advanced on him, and although smaller and less formidable than most women, Pansy was a force to be reckoned with, and, eyes widening with sudden fear, Marcus stumbled backwards as she blew things out of the way. A chair nearly took off his head, and turning, he dashed for the door, hoping only for his survival against the wrathful woman.

"_Relashio!" _

He saw the jet of light as it bounced off the simple, white walls and then he fumbled for the door, and opened it, dashing into the hallway and down the steps.

"And don't you come back, you disgusting swine!"

The silence that reigned after he was gone made Pansy's head hurt. Wand still raised, her body weakened and she slumped against the railing, clinging to it lest she fall.

_Coward._

The word echoed once more, bringing with it a flood of pain that Pansy usually kept locked within her heart. She was alone, and she was a coward. She turned around, shutting her door behind her and facing an empty flat with only the company of a child that she didn't want and who feared her.

All for a man who didn't want her.

_If only he did, everything would be different!_

Pansy loathed her life, and she loathed the world she lived in. She loathed the things she was doing.

_But, what choice do I have?_

Nothing answered her.

* * *

><p>Hermione had made him some kind porridge, but Draco had hardly felt hungry. Watching her seemed to distract him from everything else, and she was quite a lovely view in his kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his long, starched shirts. A blue one, he realized. She had said she liked it.<p>

The food looked delicious; the porridge thick, buttery with a touch of sweetness. Their lie in that morning had rendered Draco blissfully oblivious to all else, and he knew now, that it was dangerous to feel that way.

Beyond the windows of the kitchen he could see a gray morning sky and the wind had picked up overnight. It was probably cold outside, and here in the warm kitchen, and Granger, with her glorious, unmanageable coif and desirable body was a distraction from what he _should_ have been thinking about.

He thought about the Ministry, Lily Potter, the alienages, and most importantly, the forbidden, strange relationship that he had with the woman who was now bringing two plates to the wide kitchen table. None of it made sense to Draco; nothing had made sense since the night Hermione Granger had been brought to the alienage. If anyone found out, he'd be in trouble, and she would…

It was an impossible situation, and thinking about it was always the same – a heaviness that he couldn't get out from under, and one that terrified him so badly he didn't want to think about it. Instead, he focused on the woman who had just sat down on his lap, smiling at him. She made it easier to ignore everything else around him.

Draco kissed Hermione.

At least, he had this moment. And the next, and that whole morning, didn't he? He could indulge in another kiss, a caress, a long embrace, couldn't he? Everything else in life was so dark, so heavy, he had a desire to cling to the one thing in his life that could give him hope. And that desire was irresistible.

Reaching down, he picked up his spoon and fed her a bite of the porridge, watching with fascination as she swallowed and licked her lips. He swallowed at the same time, and then Hermione took the spoon from him, and fed him a bite.

It was one of the most sensual moments Draco could remember having. He reached up, running his fingers through her hair.

"Thank you," he whispered, leaning up to kiss her once more, closing his eyes.

His heart overflowed.

* * *

><p>His heart overflowed.<p>

As Blaise held his little girl tightly in the cradle of his arms, he smiled down at her, and she offered him an angelic smile in return, free of all prejudice, pain and knowledge. It was the smile of a little girl who was warm, content and happy in the arms of her father and those who took care of her.

As always, Blaise felt a rush of gratitude to the two exotic looking twins who had taken the time to love Lavender and Daisy when he could not have. And, at the same time, he felt resentment towards a world that did not allow a mother to see her own baby, and for each second that slipped by allowing Daisy to believe that another woman was her mother.

He was doing whatever he could to take care of his daughter, and bring his family back together, but sometimes it seemed like it would never happen. It seemed as if this would be the only life Daisy would ever know, and Lavender-

Well, he didn't want to think about that. He couldn't, because he needed to have a clear head.

"She's been fussy all day," said one of the twins, tenderly adjusting Daisy's blanket as Blaise leaned down to kiss his daughter again.

He stroked her downy hair.

"She's perfect," he decided, and handed her over to the women for a moment.

"I have your money, I put it on the front table," he said indicating the front room. The women nodded and then Blaise offered his baby girl another smile.

"Come to daddy!"

He reached for her, holding her close once more. The sudden explosion behind him sent the women stumbling backwards, and Blaise was suddenly more grateful than ever he had been that he was holding his daughter. Everything that followed happened in nightmarish, slow motion.

"_Deprimo!"_

It was Fenrir; Blaise would have known that voice anywhere.

Two others followed the first, and they were all in masks, wearing heavy, black hooded cloaks. The second one spoke.

"Get the baby."

The sound was muffled and gravely behind the mask, and Blaise only hesitated a second before dashing forward, cradling Daisy, who had started to wail.

"Move!" he ordered the two women behind him, whose eyes had widened in terror.

Dean moved first, dashing forward into the front room, towards the hooded figures. The three Death Eaters blocked the doorway, and for a second it was as if time had stopped completely, and then the next, there were jets of red light racing across the small space.

With a struggled cry, one of the women hurled a revulsion jinx towards the men in cloaks, but one of them deflected it easily, with a strange laugh.

Heart hammering, Blaise knew he only had a second or two to contemplate his next move, knowing the wrong step would cost him his daughter's life and there was no way in hell he would allow it.

Swiftly, he passed Daisy off to the nearest woman.

"Go," he hissed his eyes bright. "Go and don't turn around. Just go!"

The men came forward, after the dark-haired witch, who now held the baby. Blaise took action.

"_STUPEFY!" _

The man in front fell forward, and the other two stumbled over him. It gave Blaise enough time to get his child out the door, past the two men still standing.

"GO!" he screamed at the two women who had stopped in the hallway, and with a push they began to clatter down the staircase, the baby clutched tightly in the arms of one of them.

Behind Blaise, the room was filled with brilliant color, and he saw that Dean had failed to stun either man, instead suffering from a blow that had seemingly taken off his left arm. There was too much blood.

_Bloody hell. _

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The scream echoed off the walls, and Blaise worked quickly.

"_Protego!"_

The curse bounded off his magical shield, filling the staircase with vivid green color. With a growl, the hooded man leapt from the landing and down the first set of stairs, showing incredible deftness.

"_Avada Ked__avra!" _

The curse sounded again and Blaise cried out as one of the women fell dead.

"GO! GO!"

His scream was one of determination.

He knew it would be painful, knew it was a loss that no one could truly come to terms with, especially when it happened so suddenly, but now was not the time to grieve.

Without another thought, he launched himself down the stairs, ignoring the man behind him, for he heard Dean struggling with him. Instead, he was focused on the hooded man ahead, who was quickly catching up with-

Was it Padma? Or Parvati? He didn't know, hadn't had time to realize.

"_Impedimenta_!"

The curse missed, and the Death Eater had nearly reached Daisy now. He turned, red bolts of light issuing from his wand, and one of them hit Blaise, stunning him – as if stopping his heart – and causing him to cry out in pain. It burned, whatever it was burned like hell, but it didn't stop him from moving.

"_STUPEFY_!"

This time, he hit his mark, and the masked man fell, tumbled and stopped dead still right at the doorway that led to the empty alley.

Then, there was only ragged breathing and the sound of Daisy's terrified screaming.

"P-Parvati…"

It was Padma who spoke first, her voice tainted by her grief, as she tried to come to terms with the death of her sister whilst trying to calm a screaming baby. Tears poured down her face.

A groan from behind them sounded and a pasty looking Dean stumbled into the alley, his arm rendered useless at his side, the blood seeping from it at a terribly quick rate. Blaise leaned down to kiss Daisy and turned to look at Dean.

"We've got to get you help," he managed, as he winced, the left side of his own body still numb and aching from whatever curse it had taken.

"WERA headquarters, mate."

Dean's eyes were slightly unfocused as he leaned against the brick wall, sliding down to the filthy ground, his head rolling to the side. Blaise fell to the ground, pulling off the remnants of his overcoat.

"Scourgify," he whispered, trying to clean up the blood as best as he could.

Behind him, Padma had somehow gotten Daisy to stop crying, and the baby was hiccupping softly.

He fastened part of his coat tightly around the blood flow, hoping to stave it until he could get Dean proper help. The fallen man winced and moaned, his dark face nearly gray with blood loss. He looked up at Padma.

"Can you do side-along? Get him the help he needs?"

His tone was strained. Padma nodded, clutching the baby. She was in shock; Blaise knew she would not be able to speak.

He stood, his hands covered in blood.

"Go, then. You all get to safety, and take care of her," he said staring down at his daughter, and then kissing her tenderly. "I've got to stay here. Clean up this mess, make sure they don't remember anything. If I'm with you, there's no safety. I'll be a wanted man, and it's not your burden, it's mine."

Padma nodded, tears slipping down her reddish-brown skin, and reached down to take hold of Dean's hand. In a flash, they were gone, leaving Blaise alone in the alleyway. Turning, he hurried to the first fallen Death Eater.

"_Obliviate."_

Once the job was done, and the three that had come after him and Daisy would no longer remember what they had come for, Blaise hurried out of the alley and stood, facing the brick building where he had hidden his daughter for so many months.

"_Evanesco."_

He erased it all, as if it had never existed. Then, lowering his head, and cradling his hurt arm closely, Blaise hurried away. When the others awoke, the Ministry would be after him. He could erase their memory of what had happened inside the building, but he could not erase their intent.

And their intent was to eliminate those resistant to their cause.

_I'm in trouble._

His next destination was clear, and Blaise moved north, towards Kensington.


	31. Chapter 31

_Guys, you've been with me all this time – thank you! __ I appreciate every comment, alert and favorite. You are the best. In this chapter, Draco must face a tough decision and the possibility of losing Hermione._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE<p>

* * *

><p>The two men standing in the foyer glared at one another. Draco was taken aback; Zabini was wincing with pain.<p>

"Sit down."

Draco had spoken first, and for the second time since Zabini had entered his parlor, he lifted his wand in an attempt to help him.

"Let me-"

Once more, Zabini waved him away.

"I told you, no. I am fine."

And then there was that same, tense silence. The grandfather clock ticked loudly behind them. Hermione had left the room at Zabini's cold request. Instead of sitting, he began to pace across Draco's sitting room, from the wide mahogany desk, to the heavily draped windows that faced the garden.

"Someone found out about Daisy. Someone knew where she was."

Swiftly, he whirled on Draco, his face a tight mask of rage.

"Mate, you're the only one who _knew."_

Draco's eyes widened as he heard the betrayal and anger in Zabini's voice.

"You can't really be mental enough to believe that I would have snitched!"

Draco's exclamation was riddled with incredulousness. Zabini's expression was unforgiving.

"Well, then who?"

"I had a son!" Draco blurted his voice breaking. "A little boy who never made it to his third birthday! I know what loss feels like, Zabini! Why would I put you through that?"

The battered tone of Draco's voice had shattered the tempestuous silence. Neither man could look up at the other for a long time. Zabini spoke first, in a gossamer tone, very unlike him.

"I'm sorry."

His candor was evident, but it did nothing to relieve the tension between the two men. Draco clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I didn't do it."

His eyes traveled to the large desk where he kept all his correspondences, all business related matters that he tended to from home, and everything else that didn't relate to his personal life. He had put a lock on that desk. Astoria, he knew, would be the only one who had access to the room, but she had never before wondered into it.

So, he had no reason to believe-

"Someone found out. They raided the flat in Paddington. I only just barely got away and…but not all of us did."

Draco feared the worst.

"Daisy?"

"She's with the WERA."

Draco nodded, letting out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Once more, the only sounded that pervaded the room was the incessant ticking of the clock. Draco gazed on his desk, at the papers strewn there. He wondered if he would be able to tell if something was amiss, if something-

The lock, of course.

He moved swiftly, coming around to the front of the desk. The lock remained intact, but when Draco finally pulled open the drawer, he nearly gasped, and could hardly find the strength for his next words.

"Who came for the baby?"

"Fenrir. I know that voice. Dolohov, probably. There was too much going on for me to know for sure."

"Dead?"

"No, are you off your trolley? Murdering a Ministry official?"

For a few moments, there was silence as Draco looked down into the drawer. His heart stopped, and he found no air to breathe. The papers were missing – all the papers from Zabini, every last one. Someone had been in the house. He knew he hadn't been the snitch and that only left…

Astoria.

_Bloody hell!_

He barely heard Zabini's words, as the buzzing in his head made them strangely far off sounding.

"We stunned them. I took care of the mess. At least I got away. I'm a few steps ahead, and that's all I really needed. Now, they'll be looking for me."

Draco's world had been shaken at the realization of his wife's betrayal, and he could hardly feel anything at the finality of Zabini's words. He wasn't stupid; he knew what the other man was saying. There was no room for him within the Ministry any longer. He had no clout and no position. And that meant Lily Potter would not be going anywhere.

"Are you giving up?"

The question wore a thinly painted veil of casualness over desperation. Not only did he have to bear the nasty sting of betrayal, his last hope of saving Lily Potter was slipping from his fingers and there was nothing he could sodding do about it.

Zabini stepped closer, his brow furrowing.

"Not until I have my daughter and Lavender with me."

Draco found himself nodding stiffly, but could not look up. What did that mean for him? It wasn't like he gave a damn about Lavender Brown or her daughter! It would not help him get Lily back, would it? But, somehow, knowing that Zabini wouldn't be close at hand made Draco want to weep. His only confidante, the only person besides Granger whom he had been able to fully trust would walk out of his house on that day, and perhaps, he'd never see him again.

"Where will you go?"

"Wherever my daughter is, mate. It's where I've got to be."

"Ah."

The reply was noncommittal, hiding the pain and the sense of complete loss that Draco was feeling. His fingers gripped the desktop. But still, he did not look up. The silence grew oppressive. Finally, Draco couldn't keep silent anymore.

"It was Astoria."

With those words, he turned his eyes upwards to see Zabini's expression melt into one of confusion.

"Come again?"

"It was Astoria; she came in here, broke into my desk and took…everything that you had sent me. All the letters you owled me, everything on Daisy and what had happened were in this bottom drawer, and they're gone now. Thank Merlin you never mentioned Lavender's name."

Zabini had paled with each of Draco's words, and when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out but a strange hissing sound.

"Why?"

When he did speak, it was just that one word. Draco sighed.

"I don't know."

"Does she know about you and…?"

Zabini's dark eyes flickered towards the two double doors that led into the hallway down which Granger had disappeared.

"I don't…think so. She assumes; she's assumed a lot over the last five years. I don't love her; I never have."

"She must have a reason to do what she did, no?"

Draco stood and faced his colleague and the closest thing he had ever had to a real friend.

"I suppose so."

But, he wasn't sure and Zabini looked tense as he spoke.

"Who's to say she won't meddle in the rest of your life, Malfoy? You're not…this isn't a safe place for you anymore. Don't you see? She's taken a side. She's betrayed you."

Draco looked away, feeling his heart in his throat. Perhaps it was true. This had become a safe haven, but just as the flat in Paddington, Draco felt like even his haven had been violated by betrayal and a wife who most likely abhorred him. He couldn't even find the words to reply and Zabini's voice broke the silence once more.

"You know, Granger would be safer if she were away from here, too. Even the alienage is safer now. The more time she spends here, the more you risk ending up like me. She risks the Dementors, sure, but you've got clout. You could keep her off the lists as long as possible."

Draco snorted with reproach.

"Parkinson is no Dementor, last time I checked. And she was the real problem."

"You're telling me that you, Draco Malfoy, can't control Pansy? She's dead mental, but she's still just a woman."

Draco looked away, feeling panic creep around the edges of his consciousness. It had been a long time, months really, since he had felt its familiar icy fingers. Draco decided he hated it. Granger had made it go away, for a time, and now he was facing life without her. Zabini didn't know. He didn't know that Pansy had made an offer, and now, it was the only thing that Draco had left.

_It's Lily or Hermione, isn't it? Once she finds out Zabini can't help me, she'll want to know what else she can do. Can I lie? Do I even want to? What am I going to do?_

Draco wanted to loathe Hermione Granger, to despise her for what she had done. Making him feel things! Making him want her so! Making it impossible to face life alone!

_Fucking hell! __No, I can't. I can't admit something like that. I can't let Zabini see…_

"What makes you think even give a damn about what happens to Granger?"

His words were cold and vehement, but they made Zabini laugh wryly.

"Because, I've been where you are! Because, I see that look on your face now. Why would you bother with Potter's daughter if you didn't feel something towards Granger? You've admitted that this whole mess is due because of her, so you should ask yourself _why."_

Draco found himself angry and cornered.

"Stop staring at me! You don't know me, so don't presume what I do and do not feel!"

His voice was strained and raised higher than normal. He didn't see Zabini shake his head in defeat. He was only aware of his own growing terror. Now what?

Finally, Draco turned, defeated and his voice was small and uncertain.

"So, will I see you again?"

"As long as there is fight in me, you will. WERA is coming for the Muggle-borns in your alienage. I'll be with them. They're going to try and get out as many as they can, send them up river out of the city and hopefully out of England."

The words were firm and confident. Draco looked at Zabini sharply.

"Love breeds insanity! Are you mad? They'll kill you all! They've already killed dozens!"

He thought back to what had happened to the prisoners and Flint. But the only thing that drew emotion from his deadened heart was the image of Hermione holding Flint's wand and being forced to do all those heinous things the prisoners. Zabini's face was set.

"You would have me sit back, would you? Are you a man or a coward?"

The word coward seemed that much worse from Zabini's lips, and Draco struggled against attacking him. His fingers trembled against the desire and he wanted to scream, and to destroy everything in his path.

"How dare you?" he hissed. "I'm no coward! It's called using your brain, Zabini! Love is no excuse to stop using your head! Would you really risk your _life_ for-?"

Hadn't he done the same? Draco's realization killed his rage, leaving him limp. Taking a deep, horrified breath, he faced the garden once more, shaking his head. Zabini smirked.

"Face it, Malfoy. You and I sail the same boat. If anyone in the Ministry finds out that you're keeping…"

He looked towards the door that Hermione had disappeared through.

"Well, I don't have to tell you. They ruined what Lavender and I had. They don't understand feelings and compassion. You've got to face the truth, mate. Face your feelings and realize that there's a side to choose now. As far as I'm concerned, I've been on the wrong side from the beginning and I'll gladly take the pain and suffering now, knowing I'm doing what I should have a long time ago. It's not being stupid, and my feelings for Lavender only made me realize the truth sooner."

It was the truth that Draco didn't want to face; the reality that he had been using Hermione to escape from. But there was nothing to do but face it eventually, even though he loathed the very idea. He couldn't even speak as Zabini moved towards the doorway.

Hesitating, the tall, darker skinned man paused, and then turned back.

"We need all the help we can get, Malfoy."

The blond man stood as still as death, his eyes wide. Zabini reached into the pocket of his tattered overcoat, and then he opened his dirty and bloodied palm, revealing two copper coins. He muttered under his breath, and then paused for a moment.

Draco stared at the coins, as if horrified, before Zabini handed one to him.

"You can reach me with that," he said simply.

Draco nodded, swallowing. Of course, the sodding Protean charm. Even thinking about it made everything inside of him freeze. It only brought back the horrid memories of his sixth year, of the terror he felt at Voldemort's request, of his inability to kill Dumbledore.

_I'm a coward._

Still, that thought raged within him, having only been pacified for a moment by Hermione's gentle insistence. Now, she wasn't there. Soon, she wouldn't be there at all. And he was still a coward. Nevertheless, he found himself clutching the tiny copper coin tightly in the center of his fist.

Then, the taller man turned and opened the door.

"Zabini."

The name was strangled on Draco's lips, and his face was too pale, he knew.

"Take care of yourself."

Zabini nodded.

"I always do. You do the same, Malfoy."

Then, he was gone. Draco stood alone in the empty room. It was emptier now than it ever had been. He wondered if he'd ever see Blaise Zabini alive again.

But even that disturbing thought did nothing to take his mind from the true problem – and that was facing his own feelings, and what he would do next.

_What is the truth?_

Draco stared down at his hands, which were clenched into loose fists, and he managed to take a few breaths, praying that the panic not set in, that the feeling of being overwhelmed, as if he were drowning, would go away. He had been so certain that Lily could be saved, that Hermione wouldn't have had to sacrifice herself. But, here he was. Facing the truth, that it would be the only way now. Zabini was gone, and with him, all possibility and hope.

She would want to know what else they could do.

He would have to tell her the truth.

He had already lied to her. And, he would lose her.

_I can't lose her!_

* * *

><p>Hours had gone by, and it was only when the day was getting on in hours that Hermione had realized it. She hadn't seen Blaise Zabini in years, and something about his broken, bloody arrival at Draco's doorstep had rattled the very core of her. He had looked defeated and terrified. And that terrified Hermione. She had thrown herself into what was most comforting – housework. But even that could not distract her from her thoughts, for all she could focus on was Blaise, the fact that she had overheard that the Death Eaters had come for Daisy, and that more had died.<p>

_Merlin's beard! How many more must die?_

It bothered Hermione that she knew next to nothing, and not even standing next to the door had revealed much. Perhaps Draco had cast a silencing charm on the door, which irritated her. It was a cold reminder of just how low she had fallen. At one time, Hermione had been the one everyone went to, now she was…

There was a sound from the staircase, which startled her out of her dismal thoughts, and just as she glanced up, she saw a still shadow standing at the top landing.

"D-Draco?"

Hermione stood, peering up with hesitation. The shadows of the early evening lay heavily all around them, and even the brilliance of his white-blond hair was dulled by their impenetrable blanket.

Her voice atremble, she spoke.

"What's happened?"

"The Death Eaters found out about Daisy. Blaise got to her first."

The reply was nothing if not curt and try as she might, Hermione could not catch his eyes.

"So the baby…she's all right?"

"Is anyone all right anymore, Hermione?"

Even under such uncertain circumstances, the sound of he name on his lips sent a shiver through her. The sound of Draco's footsteps coming down the stairs echoed through the space.

"I feel like all right no longer exists."

Hermione felt stung by his words, though she did not know why. There was something inexplicably sad and lost in their utterance, and that, even more so than the vacant expression on his pale face, caused Hermione great unease. He passed her, moving towards the large sitting room on the first floor of the house. Her eyes followed him, and though he made no sound, did not even spare her a glance, she felt compelled to follow him, clasping her icy cold hands together tightly.

"Draco, I-"

"Don't, Granger."

The command startled her, and brought on a stark silence. She hesitated, torn between going to him and ignoring his sudden coldness towards her, or standing in place and waiting for him to make the next move. All she knew for certain was that his obvious distress made her heart weep and she wanted to make his pain go away. In the end, Hermione waited. After what seemed like eternity, Draco's voice rang through the darkened room, the tone plaintive.

"Zabini can't help me. The Ministry is onto him, and he's a wanted man. He can't return to his post, or the alienage."

Hermione saw his pain when those gray, glittering eyes met hers in the half darkness.

"He can't help Lily."

Though Hermione's heart shattered and plummeted to the deepest caverns of despair, she willed herself to remain calm, stepping closer to him, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, even this small movement bringing a sort of comfort. After all, they still had each other, didn't they?

"There's got to be something we can do," she uttered hopefully, turning her eyes upwards at his stern profile, so white, even in the darkness falling.

"No, there's not."

It was a sharp retort, and it made Hermione feel as if she had just been slapped. It stung. As she watched him, she could see that he remained stubborn in his refusal to look at her. It was as if he were desperately trying to keep something from her, and it was rather irritating.

"There isn't only if you continue to believe that!"

Her tone was reproachful, and it made Draco look down at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Hermione sense the tension; it was so thick she could have cut it with a knife.

"Look, Granger, we don't have time for this now."

The change of subject startled Hermione.

"What are you getting on about?"

"It was Astoria who betrayed me. She broke into my office desk and found out about Daisy. She turned Blaise into the Ministry. It's not safe here for you."

The concern was evident in every line of Draco's face, even though Hermione could feel the desperation with which he attempted to hide it. The thought of being away from Draco, caused Hermione's eyes to water.

"I don't care about myself."

There was a sudden flash of anger across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Well, I do. You can't come here."

"Where will I go?"

Her whisper was thick with emotion; she tried in vain to keep the tears from coming, but they did without permission, making her eyes glitter. If there had been concern, it was gone now, for Draco once more, refused to look at her.

"Back to the alienage."

He might as well have said 'hell', for nothing terrified Hermione more than the place where Marcus and Pansy were.

"But, I-"

He turned away.

"If you stay here, she'll begin to question the relationship between us, Granger. If she so easily betrayed me, do you think she'd offer you a greater kindness?"

Lips trembling, Hermione followed Draco as he moved towards the front foyer, which lay entirely in the shadows now.

"I need time."

The words were softer now, as if muffled by the heaviness of the dark around them.

"I need to figure out what I'm going to do about my wife, and if there's a way to help Zabini, I have to find it. He's with the WERA now. Perhaps, they can still help Lily."

His words, however, held no hope.

Hermione's heart hammered wildly as she felt the gentle caress of his fingers against her overheated cheek. She leaned into it as if she was being given a breath of fresh air after being suffocated. Without thinking, Hermione wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his chest, snuggling up to his warmth.

"Please, I want to be where you are."

It was a whisper not of desperation, but of certainty. She felt him chuckle deep in his chest, in spite of the hopeless situation that they found themselves in. She would not know what was in his mind and heart, but she knew her own, and it was telling her that she belonged where he was.

"It's not that easy, Granger."

His whisper broke her heart. Draco's fingers wound themselves in her hair as he rested his chin atop her head.

"Remember, what happens between us has no bearing on what happens outside of this house."

The words did nothing to heal the pain Hermione was feeling and she clung to him wishing that they had never started the conversation, that none of that day had ever happened. She wanted it to be yesterday, when she had been so perfectly safe in his embrace.

"Flint won't hurt you again, Hermione. I'll make sure of that. And Pansy…she-"

He fell silent. Outside there was a soft rushing sound and Hermione realized that it had begun to rain. His fingers tipped her chin up, and in the shadows, she was standing so close to him she could see the faint reflection of herself in his beautiful eyes. A single tear escaped her, and it rolled down her cheek, melting into Draco's fingertips.

He sighed.

"It won't be for long," he swore. "I…I care about you, Hermione. You know that. I'll think of something, I swear. I'll think of something."

He determined to do so, as he leaned in to kiss her, soft and sweet, for just a moment. They stood in a silent embrace, the rain falling softly around them.

Hermione could swear that he was kissing her like it was their last. And she desperately hoped that she was wrong.

* * *

><p>He wondered if this kiss was their last.<p>

As Draco stood, cradling Hermione in his arms, he heard Zabini's words in his mind, like a far off echo.

_You've got to face the truth, mate. Face your feelings and realize tha__t there's a side to choose now…_

Hermione shifted in his arms, sighing, and he could feel the faint trembling of her body. He wasn't the only one going through something, he knew. She was terrified of going back to the alienage, of facing Flint once again. Of being hurt by Pansy.

_But, that doesn't have to happen! I know what Pansy wants, don't I? She wants me. If I…_

It was an impossible thought, Draco knew. But it would save Hermione and Lily, after all. And if Zabini was right, and he was to face his feelings, this was part of it. He cared about Hermione. He wanted her safe. He would do _anything-_

_But can I do this thing? Can I give her up?_

The idea sent such a rush of pain through him, Draco went weak. He ran his fingers along the softness of her face.

"Do you trust me?"

As she lifted her head and offered him _that _smile, Draco's world stopped.

"Of course I do."

It seemed like the most natural thing for her to say, and he wondered at the ease with which she had uttered those words. It gave him pause, and her brow furrowed.

"Draco, are you all right? I know this hasn't been easy on anyone. I'm worried too."

He nodded, swallowing. Try as he might, he wasn't able to say anything. She squeezed his hand then, pulling away from him.

"I'm ready to go back, then. I forget sometimes that I belong _there_, and not with you."

She was blushing and the color spread across her cheeks brilliantly.

_You do belong with me._

The thought had come unbidden, but that didn't make it any less true, and with a start, Draco opened the door. He wanted to say those words to her, but he could not.

The porch was protected from the growing downpour, but the air was much colder than it should have been that time of year. He reached to hand Hermione a long traveling cloak, and extra one he hadn't worn in months.

"Impervious," he whispered as he reached to pull the hood over her mess of chestnut-colored curls.

She only watched him, her eyes wide.

_Bloody hell, she's killing me with this damned trust!_

Telling Hermione the truth terrified him. Once more, he made pause, causing her to watch him with that same worry in her eyes. But this time, she remained silent, only watching him as he donned his own cloak, pulling it around his body and charming it to keep it from getting soaked.

"Come on, then. The faster we move the quicker you can be out of the rain."

The words sounded lame, even in Draco's ears. After all, the rain was the least of her worries at the alienage. There was overcrowding, the freezing night temperatures and illness. It would only get worse as the winter drew near.

They moved quickly, reaching Kensington High Street in mere moments. It was late now, and the crowds were small and the traffic thin. The coffee shops along the main drag were open, offering a cheery, golden light that filtered through the windows and painted the wet, glistening sidewalks. There was jovial laughter and talking coming from the corner pubs, and for a moment, Draco found himself wanting to take her to one of them. To share a drink with her, and to hold her close in some dark, smoky corner, if only to prolong the time they had together.

He imagined that there were no dangers facing them, nothing to separate them, and that it was just a cold, rainy night that he was spending with a woman he loved-

When had love become a part of it, he wondered?

_I'm facing my sodding feelings, aren't I?_

Yes. Yes, he was. And the realization set something within him free.

Her hand slipped into his easily, wet from the rain, and yet, impossibly warm. It started a strange feeling churning within him, one that made him want to smile and to weep at the same time. It felt wonderful and painful with each breath he took.

Draco turned to gaze down at her, to take in the tiny, upturned nose and the wide, brown eyes. He admired the full mouth and her hair, which now glistened with raindrops, like a dusting of diamonds along her tresses. She offered a smile which he returned easily, feeling warmth permeate his being that nothing would ever quell. Not so long as she was with him. Not so long as he loved her.

It could have been different, he realized. Maybe in another lifetime, if they had been different people, he wouldn't have married Astoria Greengrass. He would have been more brave and stood up to his father against the Ministry and against Voldemort. He might have been nicer to Hermione Granger in school, too, so that it wouldn't have been so easy for her to choose Ron Weasley as her husband.

Yes, so many things could have been different.

Tonight, he could have been just another bloke, walking hand in hand with a girl, heading out of the cold rain into a warm, inviting home and holding her close all night long.

He blinked, his eyes watering, and sending his vision on a watery dance.

_Except that I'm not. She's a Mudblood and I'm a coward, and this whole thing is a big, fucking mess! _

He thought of Zabini once again, and this time, he stopped.

"Hermione."

She gazed up at him, her eyes flickering between concern and something else.

"There's something I have to tell you. It's about Lily Potter and Pansy. There's another way to help Lily."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid. I'm still afraid, and I'm confused."

Hermione was watching him; her throat moving against what he knew would be another bout of tears. The look in her eyes was so hopeful it tore him apart. He gazed down at the wet pavement they stood on, wishing he were anywhere but there. When Hermione didn't speak, but waited with baited breath for him, Draco knew there was no turning back.

"There's something you don't know. Something I didn't tell you."

The rain began to come down harder.


	32. Chapter 32

_I__t's hard to write angsty stuff, but happily, I found this quite easy! Here you guys go; it might be my last update this week. Draco pays for his lies. And Hermione determines to take Lily's place. Thanks always guys for all your support – it's no story without you and I never forget that. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione had never seen apprehension the way it was painted across Draco's face, with harsh and ragged strokes. Before he even said anything, she could see his agony and the heaviness left by uncertainty. His lips trembled when he finally opened his mouth to speak.<p>

"Pansy nicked Lily to get back at me for interfering between the two of you that day in the courtyard."

Even the memory of that day sent shivers up and down Hermione's spine and she could only make a small, mewling sound in the back of her throat.

Draco cleared his throat, wincing a bit.

"I know her. I know how she can be when she doesn't get her way, or when she wants something she can't have. She's hated the fact that I married Astoria. She's hated me for being so cold towards her. She still believes somehow that we belong together. And, no matter how much I loathe the idea, I know that she knows me."

He reached out, hoping to find the warmth of her hand. Hermione squeezed his fingers when they found hers, shocked at how cold he felt.

"She's sensed that there's something…between us. I think she knew even before I did."

Draco was gazing down at their entwined fingers, his heart pummeling like a drum within him. Terrified and exhilarated, he finally looked into her eyes.

"I care about you. I never married Astoria for love, and I never believed that I could love someone else, Hermione. You do know, don't you…that I-"

He stopped short, afraid of speaking the words he felt, of coming to terms with his feelings. If he spoke his love, it would mean that it was real, that whatever came after, she would be there with him. But, if she didn't feel the same way, it would be-

Taking a huge, shaking breath, Draco warred with his fear; it was a ferocious battle that branded wounds within him, battering his heart.

"The day Parkinson came after Lily, I went after her. I begged her to give back the child, but she refused. She told me….she told me that if I stopped protecting you, she'd return the girl. Don't you see? She did it to hurt me. She suggested I trade you for Lily. It was the only way she could see separating me from you."

Hermione's face paled as she fought for air; it felt like her heart had taken lodging in her throat, and breathing was next to impossible.

Eyes wide, she spoke, her voice strained.

"You didn't tell me. You didn't give me the option!"

His expression became pained.

"No, I…I was afraid. Afraid that you'd…you'd agree to her demand, and I would- Hermione, I didn't want to lose you. I know it's crazy, but please, you have to understand!"

Struggling against his fingers, Hermione managed to pry her hand away, shaking her head.

"You could have avoided this whole thing, but you didn't! I gave myself to you! I shamed myself, gave you everything, even my dignity and pride! Why? WHY?"

Her tears glimmered as they slid down her cheeks. He threw out his hands, his eyes wide.

"I just told you why! I didn't want to lose you!"

"Oh, so it was all about you, was it? You endangered the life of a little girl for months!"

Hermione's words were biting, tearing into Draco like sharp knives, bringing with them the sharp sting of regret. He reached to calm her, but Hermione could only see red, and felt sick at the idea of being touched by him now.

Head spinning, she stumbled from the sidewalk onto the wet street, but he swiftly followed, reaching for her once more, even though she flung him off with vehemence.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't touch me. Don't pretend that you care about anything or anyone but yourself!"

The icy fingers of panic touched Draco's heart, and began their gentle squeeze. He took a ragged breath.

"No, it's not true! I care about you!"

He felt helpless as once more she refused his advancement, moving just out of his reach, her face pale, her eyes sad and accusing.

"Don't you understand? Everything in my life changed the night they brought you to the alienage! My whole focus, everything! That's why Pansy was so adamant; she saw something I didn't even know until…I didn't know my own feelings, Hermione. But I do now."

Hermione shook her head vehemently, her face a stark mask of denial. No. She wouldn't even begin to harbor such a hope. She just wouldn't, for he had already made a fool of her.

"No, no you don't! You couldn't possibly understand feelings or loyalty could you? How can a heartless man care?"

The words were ripe with betrayal and hurt. The icy squeeze on Draco's heart intensified, sending shocks of panic through him. Hermione, pale and in shock, stared at him with hatred. Her eyes were darker and more tormented than he had ever seen them.

"You did what felt good for you! You didn't once think about Lily, stuck with that horrid woman!"

Her tears increased, seemingly endless, streaming down her face like the rain around them. His weakened heart began to protest against the icy panic which gripped him. Two spots of brilliant color brightened her white face. Draco knew the color to be borne of rage.

"Having me around was like some kind of sick comfort for you, and that's why you didn't tell me. You weren't fair, Draco! You weren't fair to anyone, and I can't BELIEVE I thought I trusted you!"

The street had fallen mostly silent now, as darkness had claimed the city and the rain had chased most everyone inside. It was just them, and he watched helplessly as Hermione flung off the charmed overcoat and began to be soaked with the rain.

"I loathe you, and I won't stand to be with you another moment!"

As she turned, Draco vacillated between hatred, rage and despair. The squeeze on his heart proved to be much, too much, for him to handle. And finally, crushed by the icy grip of panic, it exploded: with pain, with desperation, with loathing, with love. With so much emotion that Draco nearly fell to weeping.

Except he couldn't. Not now, and not ever.

His voice, as he heard it, was a queer sound.

"Go ahead and run, _Mudblood!_ See how far you get without me! Marcus is probably waiting! Fenrir, too! That's all you're good for now, anyway, so I say let them have you!"

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she wondered if it was possible to feel more hurt than she did right then. It wasn't just a sting, she knew. It was a bloody massacre.

Draco's words had shattered her already broken heart.

He couldn't believe the things that had fallen from his lips, words spurred on by his self-loathing and white-hot rage. He was terrified of losing her, and yet, could only watch helplessly as he destroyed the fragile relationship that they had forged.

Hermione managed to gather her wits, even if it was only for a moment. Her curls were a heavy, wet curtain around an overheated face. She felt feverish, her body hot as the air made her shiver violently. Her tears mingled with icy downpour that fell from the sky.

He was right, she couldn't do anywhere without him. Not anymore, and not if she valued her life.

_I don't. But, I value Lily's. And I love her like she __was mine. I have to make sure she's all right, and I can't rely on anyone but myself. I was a fool to believe Draco Malfoy would ever help me. I was a silly, stupid girl to trust him. _

She had allowed her need for comfort and some sense of hope to clout the reality, and now, she realized how foolhardy she had been. To trust a Death Eater! To trust anyone in the Ministry!

_Merlin's Beard, I was an idiot. _

Hermione took a resigned breath, and looked up, her face and hair dripping with the icy rain. She blinked, for just as her bitter tears, the rain blurred her vision.

"I want to go to the alienage."

The water dripped from her eyelashes, her nose, into her mouth and she swallowed the raindrops.

"And tomorrow, I'm going to see Pansy. I'm going to tell her what happened, and then I'm going to take Lily's place."

Draco could have blown off her determined words, but he knew them to be dead serious. She would do this thing, he knew.

"Hermione-"

Staring him straight in the eyes, the woman shook her head.

"No, you don't get to call me by my name."

The words were spoken from behind clenched teeth, trembling and uncertain.

"You have to listen to me."

"I don't have to do anything."

She stopped him when he tried to cross the divide between them, and her voice was raspy when she continued.

"This shouldn't have happened. None of this should have happened. I should be dead now, and I'm not. Lily should have never been put into this situation, and she was. I'm going to make things right, Malfoy, because you _wouldn't!_"

She stared helplessly at him, a woman who looked in complete ruins. Once more, Draco felt as if he were being crushed by the weight of his frustration, and the reality of his feelings. In some ways, it was liberating to understand his motivations, and in other ways, he felt damned.

"Granger, you're a bloody fool! This thing between us is all that makes sense now, don't you see? Do you really think I wanted this? To feel like this about you and to do the things I've done? Open your eyes for once! All the things I've done since you – don't you think that I wouldn't have done them if I hadn't cared?"

Hermione was silent, staring at him, offering no reply. He took a step forward, hoping against hope that she would see reason.

"No, none of this should have happened, but it very well sodding DID! You can't go back and change it now, can you? None of it!"

Draco felt used, though he didn't understand why. As he stared, Hermione began cry in earnest, the sound choked, her body shaking with each sob.

"I wish I were dead! I wish I had died that night with Ron! Ginny told me, they all warned me not to trust a Death Eater, and I did! I trusted you! I wanted to feel some comfort, to have some hope, to see a light in all the darkness. And I was a fool!"

Draco watched as she crumpled to the curb, soaked to the bone, her clothing sticking to her small, thin body. She was curled up into a ball, sobbing into her hands, and he could only think of wrapping his arms around her to try and make her pain go away. Even though he likened her to a scared, drowned sewer rat, still she had the power to make his heart dance strangely inside him.

Was this what it had come down to? Would he be a slave to the utterly overwhelming need to protect her and be with her? Did nothing else matter anymore? What of his duty to the Ministry, what of his life – the life he had known up until that night she had reentered his life?

But then again, Draco knew his life had been nothing but darkness until Hermione had shed her light. And he needed her.

"Granger," he moaned, afraid to step forward, yet terrified to stand still.

Hermione prayed that he leave, even though she knew he would not. She prayed for death, hoping it came swiftly, without pain. She longed for Ron's arms, the arms of a friend. And most of all, she prayed that everything from the night the flat had been raided was a horrible, terrible nightmare. Perhaps, she was already dead; perhaps she had died when the Death Eaters had come that night. Then, everything that had followed – the torments of the alienage, Malfoy's willingness to help her, the nights in his arms, would never have happened.

_And that's what would make sense. Not these…these impossibilities, and the pain, and my bloody feelings…_

But she knew it was not a nightmare when she felt the touch of his arms and the heat of his body envelop her. He was too close, and it was all too real. Amidst the icy rain, he felt hot. His fingers offered the softest of touches, and he didn't seem to care that she was completely soaked.

"Hermione…"

Somehow, she had no more strength to fight against him, to even utter a word of distain, of argument. She could only tremble as he whispered her name, and Hermione knew that it wasn't from the cold. The slate depths of his eyes captured her when she looked up, and the passion and sincerity that lay within those eyes was galvanizing; her breathing grew shallow, her heartbeat began to race, and each terrifying emotion she was feeling seemed heightened. He rendered her completely under his spell, and Hermione's head swam.

Draco found his own heart galloped within his chest, as he lowered his lips to the thick, wet curls of her hair, pressing a heated kiss to the top of her head. She smelled of the air, of rain and of sweetness. He inched closer to her on the cold, wet pavement, pulling her tight against his body, feeling the way she trembled against him. He only wanted to be as close to her as humanly possible, and he knew even in that moment, he'd want her closer still.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said. For all the things I did, and for everything I didn't do. I'm so bloody sorry."

It was a strangled, guttural whisper, and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Hermione barely heard his voice over the sound of the falling rain, but she certainly _felt_ the way his fingers danced along her skin, wiping away the rain, building a gentle heat within her to dispel the grip of fear that she was in. She wanted to believe him; she felt compelled by the solemn way with which he gazed on her, a mixture of hope and plaintiveness written in the gray depths of his eyes.

Draco buried his face against the wetness of her hair.

"Please, you have to believe me. I wanted to hold on to you; I wanted to hold onto the best part of my life, even though it makes no sense. I wasn't thinking then, I swear. I was only acting, and none of it had made sense. Some of if still makes no bloody sense. But I do know that I didn't do it to hurt you!"

He could only hope that she would believe him and that she wouldn't try to escape him again. He felt her shift and sigh, pressing in against him, and by the sweet, beautiful Gods, he loved her –

_Oh, sweet, fucking Merlin – Hermione I love you-_

"I love you."

The breathless utterance, those three words spoken in the heat of his own emotions offered him a sweet release. Draco buried his face against her cheek, kissing her tenderly, searching for the warmth of her neck, and resting there once he found it.

Hermione's aching heart stopped beating for a second before it suddenly started up once more, unevenly, each beat echoing in her ears, her fingers, her toes, her belly.

"D-don't say things you don't mean."

She stuttered the words; spoke them weakly, trying to pull away from the warmth of his embrace. She hated herself for reacting this way, for wanting him to love her even though she understood the impossibility of such a thing. Fresh tears pooled in Hermione's eyes and she blinked, feeling them burning down her face.

He spoke those damning but captivating words again.

"Gods, I adore you."

Hermione struggled against him.

"No, no you don't!"

The rain fell harder, and she felt both frozen and feverish.

"If you did, you wouldn't have lied. You would have given me a choice, because you know how I feel about Lily. Please, let me go. Just let me go!"

Finally, he did, the expression on his face stricken.

"I wouldn't lie to you about this," he whispered, pushing down the urge to reach for her even though he wanted nothing more than the touch of her hand.

"I'm mad about you, Hermione."

A whisper this time, and the words were just as sweet the third time around, causing Hermione's weeping to increase. Struggling, she finally managed to get to her feet, and then she stumbled away from him down the street, not sure where she was going, or if she would even get anywhere before she got caught. But she feared hearing those words again, for they awakened every one of her senses.

_I can't be here. I can't._

She waited, with apprehension, to hear that same derision in his voice, the mocking comments about her blood status and the hatred that had touched his words before. But none of that ever came.

"I'd turn on everything I know!"

"Leave me alone!"

"My whole life, everything, I swear."

"Piss off, Malfoy!"

"I've never felt like this before!"

Hermione struggled with her raging emotions, wanting to murder him just as much as she wanted to throw herself into the solace that she knew waited in his arms and beg him to kiss her senseless. Her plea, when it came, was weak.

"Please, don't do this."

"I know we can find a way to help Lily. Together, Hermione. Just don't turn away from me now."

She stopped, her face tense.

"There's no time for that. There is a way to help Lily, and I'm going to do it. Now. If you truly love me, you'll understand."

The challenge was set before him, and Draco ground his teeth together to keep from saying something he knew he'd be sorry about later. He did love her! And now she was asking him to sit back and watch as she sacrificed herself to that cow? It made no bloody sense!

"I _do_ love you," he whispered, his face broken.

Hermione remained stubborn, her brown eyes flashing with warning.

"Then, don't move. And take me back to the alienage."

Once more, Draco felt impossibly torn, as if he was being split down the middle. It was the worst feeling in the world. But, he didn't move, instead nodding to her.

"Please, do you know what she'll do to you?" he reminded in a desperate attempt to get the stubborn witch to change her mind.

Hermione jaw twitched.

"Oh, you poor sod, pretending to be worried for me."

Her words were ones of derision.

"Damn it, Granger! Does this amuse you? Watching me wallow like this?"

His face was twisted into a scowl.

"I've just admitted four fucking times that I'm in love with you! And still you're on me like you don't believe me!"

"I don't!"

She whirled away from him and splashed heedlessly through a rather large puddle, heading towards the alleyway from which they always apparated back to the alienage. Hermione's heart was racing inside her chest, the feeling enough to exhilarate her, even as it filled her with a leaden hopelessness. So what if he loved her?

_Love only brought Lavender to the alienage. She lost her baby and she lost Blaise. Sod it all!_

Once the alley, Hermione turned back to see Draco's shadowed form blocking the light of the streetlamp behind him.

"Now."

Though her demand was a whisper, it was no less commanding, and wordlessly, Draco retrieved the tiny, gold watch he had turned into a portkey, staring at it listlessly.

_I'm going to lose her, aren't I? Merlin knows what Pansy's going to do once she's got her alone. Oh, fuck! Fuckety, fuck, fuck! _

"Do it," she hissed.

Draco hesitated, swallowing hard.

"No."

"Malfoy!"

"I won't! I won't see you at the mercy of that monster! I didn't risk my arse over and over for that!"

Hermione swallowed back venom, the blood rushing fast within her, second only to the rushing of her heart.

"You won't tell me what to do! If you had told me the truth, this wouldn't be happening!"

"You're fucking mental!"

"And you're a selfish, cowardly bastard!"

In a move that started Draco, Hermione reached down and attempted to snatch the watch from him, crying out with frustration when he caught her wrist and yanked her back against his body.

"Don't you dare," he hissed against her ear, holding her stiffly against his body. Hermione let out a strangled sound as she fought against him, though she was no match to him.

"Let me go!"

"Will you listen to me?"

"No!"

"Then we're at an impasse."

Draco remained calm, a stark contrast to the raging Hermione, who still fought against her determined captor.

"I hate you!"

"I don't think you do."

"Don't you presume to tell me what I do and do not feel!"

Their intense argument echoed along the dark, wet walls of the alley, and when they both stopped, the echoes died, leaving behind only the rush of the rain. For a moment, he remained unyielding against her, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath his upper arm. Then, he relaxed, feeling her move with him, falling limp. He caught her.

"Please," she whispered, her voice strained with new tears.

"I won't do what Zabini did," he whispered against her ear, making Hermione shiver. "I won't abandon you, Hermione. We could leave London. Bloody hell, we could leave England, couldn't we? It wouldn't be easy, what with the Ministry, but how far can they really chase us?"

His words sparked hope in her heart, which was so often black with despair. But at the same time those same words were so obviously tainted with his naiveté. He didn't know what it was like to be on the run for weeks, months, even years. To be terrified that each morning might be his last. To live in constant fear.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she whimpered.

"Just give me time!"

"I can't. Even if I wanted to, I can't. Lily means more to me than anything. I have to make sure she's safe."

Draco looked devastated, shaking his head vehemently.

"You can't do this!"

"It's worth it to me, to know that I'm protecting Lily."

There was no changing her mind, Draco realized. He knew it when he saw _that_ light shining in the depths of her brown eyes, the same light that had given him hope so many times over. Her words from that hot summer afternoon washed over Draco.

_They're just children. Innocent children…_

She had always been their savior, even when he hadn't wanted to believe it. He had mocked her, allowed himself to believe she was deluded, when in reality she was simply determined.

It was strange, Draco realized, to feel the heat rushing to the back of his eyes, making him blink furiously against the onslaught of hot, bitter tears. He wanted to weep over the unfairness of it all. He had only known joy once in his life, had only loved for such a short time before life had snatched it all away. He had thought he'd never feel affection again, until…

Well, anyway, Hermione Granger had been too good for him, in the end.

He would be alone once more.

"Is it what you really want?"

Startled, Hermione gazed up into his pale face, darkened with worry and resignation now. The fight had gone from him, and he remained emotionless as his grip on her loosened and she was finally standing before him, free of his vise-like grip.

What she wanted, Hermione knew, was so much different than what she knew she had to do.

"Yes, it's what I want."

There was no use telling Draco that, however.

Nodding stiffly, he lowered the golden watch onto the ground, and then reached for her hand, and Hermione felt the now familiar sensation of being tugged violently by her bellybutton and being sucked into a maelstrom of nothingness for a split second. When she was on sure footing once more, she could see the flickering lights of the alienage in the distance.

Her home and her prison.

The rains had let up, the sky patchy in places with heavy, black clouds, and radiant with tiny, glittering stars that played a cosmic game of hide and go seek behind the rain clouds. Whispering, Draco muttered something under his breath and Hermione felt a gust of heat for a moment and then found herself dry.

She turned towards him.

"You told me once that if it ever came down to choosing between me and the Ministry, you'd choose the Ministry."

Draco gasped and swallowed, a strange guttural sound escaping him.

"Everything's so different now," he croaked. "When I said that, I hadn't imagined-"

She cut him off, ignoring his quiet plea.

"When you told me that, I remember thinking that if it ever came down to you or someone I loved, I'd choose that other someone. It's no different than what you told me."

Her eyes were solemn as the gazed into his.

"I love Lily. I might not know you completely, Draco, but I do know you'd do the same if it was your child."

So many protestations bubbled to his lips, but somehow, none of them seemed at all appropriate. Not when the woman before him stood so certain of her next steps, of what she was going to do. Not when she had told him he wasn't her choice.

Swallowing, Draco nodded.

"I would."

He bit the inside of his lip, drawing blood, as if the sharp pain would ever be enough to make him stop feeling the ache in his heart.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Draco dropped his head, unable to look at her, shamed because of all the things she had been put through. Perhaps she would never blame him, but still, he knew he had stood by, letting them happen. Her thanks seemed tainted somehow, and he felt undeserving.

"I didn't do anything."

It was painfully true.

They were standing on the curved part of the road that led to the buildings making up the alienage, the buildings looming in front of them, the faint outlines of the Dementors floating in the night sky.

"You know that's not true. You protected me."

"Not anymore."

"No, but this is what I have to do."

"You don't."

Draco had battled with his tears; they then claimed their victory. Her name was a thick, choked word on his lips.

"Hermione…"

She marveled at the beauty of that one word, the way her name sounded coming from him. And she was riveted by the sincerity in his eyes and the glittering tears that formed there. Hermione allowed herself one last moment of bliss, and leaned up to take his mouth with hers, wondering if there would be something different in this kiss, in the way he pressed his lips so sweetly against hers, stopping time, making her head spin and her senses careen out of control.

She was breathless when he pulled away, his fingers entwined in the soft, warm curls that framed her face. Hermione brushed a stray tear from his cheek.

"I have to go."

It was all she could manage, and it caused him to grimace, as if in pain.

"Hermione," he whispered again. "Don't you love me?"

She hadn't been aware that it was possible for the pain of a broken heart to feel so physical. But at the whispered plea, she could hardly breathe.

"I can't do this."

She let him go, just as he spoke again.

"Don't go."

She turned, moving away from him, willing herself to be swallowed up by the long and thick shadows of the late night. Thankfully, he did not follow, for when she turned, she saw him standing there – a tall, black shadow, like a sentinel.

Draco saw she had stopped. He felt sick, trying to speak in spite of the aching.

"I love you, Hermione."

She never turned around again, disappearing down the path towards her fate. Draco wondered if she had even heard him; he wondered if, in any other life, it would have made a difference.


	33. Chapter 33

_The reception for the last chapter floored me – thank you to all those who took the time to let me know what they thought, and a shout out to those I can't reply to personally. You are all wonderful. Yes, the update was slow, but I have reasons, really! __Firstly, it's fall, and I've got a social life. Yay! Secondly, I'm working on a Samhain challenge at Granger Enchanted, and it's a multi-chaptered fic about Draco, Hermione and an apple. I will be posting that here by Halloween, so look for it. It's going to be cute. Which is scary, because I don't do cute. As you soon will see. On with the story!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p>She was gone.<p>

It was strange that he couldn't hold onto something he wanted _so_ much.

_Don't you love me, Hermione?_

The pathetic words echoed over and over in the recesses of his tortured mind. No matter how many times he cleared his mind, those words returned, mocking, poking at him, as if laughing at him and how stupid he had been.

Perhaps, he had been wrong, and his own feelings had clouded what the reality was. What if his feelings had always been one-sided? After all, lust was something altogether different from love. One did not have to follow the second, for they were mutually exclusive.

_She wanted me._

But a good shag, well, he could get that anywhere.

Stuffing his hands into the long, warm pockets of his cloak, Draco had turned and fled, the image of the lights burning within the alienage imprinted on his mind, even after he had been long gone. Home had not been an option; Draco wondered if he was ever going to go back there again. Let Astoria have the damned house, everything in it. It wasn't like he didn't have the money or means to rebuild again, somewhere else. And seeing her face made him want to revisit what he had eaten for supper.

No, he wouldn't be able to see Astoria until after the red faded from his vision and his hands stopped trembling with the desire to choke her.

_That bitch betrayed me!_

He swallowed this bitter pill.

_It wouldn't even be an issue if you hadn't gone and fallen for some silly Mudblood._

It was easy to be angry with Hermione now, Draco realized. He took a few moments to wallow in the feelings of bitterness, even though he knew they were self destructive. Wishing to cause her pain, to see her suffer, and to be angry with her would not bring Hermione back; she had made her choice, and the choice hadn't been _him._

_What's it matter? Even if she had loved you, she'd still have chosen Lily._

This, too, he wondered about. If he had loved Astoria, the way a man should love his wife, would he have been able to sit back and watch Scorpius suffer at the hand of is own mother? Was it simply his lukewarm affections that had made it so easy to loathe her?

Draco didn't know.

Thinking only for a split second, he apparated into Westminster, for here, even this late at night, the glistening, soggy city still teemed with nightlife. He didn't want to be alone, after all. Alone meant thinking about his losses and cradling a heart that was tattered and battle weary, and he had most certainly lost the battle. He wanted a distraction and perhaps something a bit strong to get his mind off of Hermione.

Draco had forgotten that no amount of alcohol had ever helped get her off his mind before, but he was sure going to try. The inclement weather was keeping most people off of the streets, but he found that many of the pubs were filled to the brim with humanity, both Muggle and wizard alike. He often found it amusing at how this new wizarding society had no qualms about mingling with those they hated. It was outright hypocrisy and it made Draco sick.

He found was he was looking for; it was a rather large pub on the corner of Piccadilly, one of those places with tables lined up wall to wall and a large bar table that was overcrowded with patrons being served by frazzled barkeep. The air was warm, dry and redolent of cigars. He'd piss the night away, hopefully getting so besotted he'd have to be carried back out into the early morning light to find his way home. At least that would be a distraction.

Pulling off the heavy cloak, Draco tossed it over his shoulder and stalked with determination towards the bar, managing to squeeze himself into the crowded space rather gracefully, given the circumstances. Once he had a drink in hand, he turned to survey his surroundings; he hoped one of the small wooden tables was empty, preferably in one of the dark, secluded corners.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side; in fact, he was having the worst luck of the century, he realized, when he spotted Marcus Flint and a group of officials from the Ministry behaving uproariously in the center of the pub. For a moment, Draco wondered if he had made a miscalculation and perhaps, another, more quieter pub was in order. But before he could actually move from the bar, one of them called out.

"Oi, look! It's the King of the Ministry!"

The others burst into laughter that seemed ill suited for a joke that wasn't really that funny. Flint stood up, weaving for a moment and then lifted his stein towards Draco.

"A toast!" he slurred. "To our fearless boss, the git with the irresistible golden prick!"

Draco found the toast rather ironic; the woman he did want clearly had no issues resisting any of his charms, including, apparently, his golden dick.

He approached the table, working to remove the look of disgust from his face, knowing if he didn't stop, they'd wonder at his mood. But, if he did, he'd have to spend a significant amount of time keeping company he had no desire to keep, and listening to sicken, innocuous conversation.

"What are you getting on about, Flint?"

Draco took a healthy swallow of his whiskey knowing he'd need it, for more than one reason.

Flint ignored the question, and stumbled back towards the bar holding the empty stein which he had sloppily drained during his oafish toast.

Mulciber grinned, wiping the beer from his chin.

"Don't fret, boss. He's just bitter 'bout Pansy, you know."

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"What about Parkinson?"

"All that work keeps you out of the loop, yeah? He told us she gave him the slip tonight. Kicked him out of the flat and everythin'."

With that, he laughed, as if the idea of a broken relationship, even between two people like Flint and Parkinson, was extremely funny. Draco bit his tongue and took another swallow of his drink just as Flint stumbled back into the table, belching and then draining half his ale in one fell swoop.

It was disgustingly impressive.

"Aw, I don' wanna talk 'bout that minger an'way," he slurred, slipping into his seat and nearly taking Rookwood and Macnair down with him.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes at the disgusting way that Flint was referring to a woman he had bedded for years.

"That so-called minger happens to be your long-term bed partner, you gormless prat."

Flint's dark eyes flashed hatefully in Draco's direction, his face pale and dotted with perspiration. He looked even worse than usual.

"Defending her, are ya?" he challenged. "She'd love that, wouldn't she? Stupid trollop's still hung up on you!"

Draco winced, not thrilled with the direction that the conversation seemed to be taking, and the fact that Flint was suddenly no longer mellow and jovial but angry and territorial. All he needed that night was a pub fight and the repercussions from his aunt that were sure to come, because fighting amongst those in the Ministry was 'conduct unbecoming' of a Ministry official who held high rank.

"I'm not defending her."

He offered a quieter tone, hoping to calm Flint.

_It's just that I'd rather her have a distraction in you than to focus all her energies on me._

"Stupid bitch doesn't know what's good for 'er."

Flint took another swallow from his stein, slopping it unceremoniously across the front of his shirt.

"She's off her rocker, she is," Rookwood commented shaking his head.

Then he offered Draco a calculated glance.

"D'you hear about the raid in Paddington? Turns out Zabini really was whoring it up with some Mudblood bint and got her pregnant. They nearly got the babe, too, but I guess the shite got away."

Draco swallowed more whiskey, hiding his expression behind his glass, hoping it was too dark and smoky for any of his drunk companions to guess that he was simply putting on an act.

"No, the poor sod. What happened?"

Flint got to his feet unsteadily, blinking, as if to clear his vision.

"I'll tell ya what 'appened! But firs' I gotta get another drink," he muttered, stumbling through the crowd, and by some miracle, managing to stay on his own two feet.

Draco's heart had stopped. At least he'd get a bit of information out of having to spend time with Flint and his cronies. And the truth was, if he hadn't already sold his soul to Voldemort years before, he would have done it now, just to find out how his wife was involved in the mess with Zabini.

He yanked Flint to a stop, making the dark haired man cry out.

"Hey, geroff me!"

"You don't need another drink, Flint."

His eyes were as hard as steel.

"I know my wife turned Zabini in. Do you know why?"

He remained tense, his fist closed tightly around the sleeve of Flint's shirt.

"Your wife?" he slurred. "Eh, she jus' had the information! It was Pansy. She had it in for Zabini, she did. Bitch was angry because they were taking Lily Potter away from her. D'you hear that?"

Draco swallowed, suddenly feeling a violent lurch in the pit of his stomach.

_Merlin's saggy left tit, I'm going to fall over._

The thought hit him just as he reached for the sticky bar counter in an attempt to stay standing. Luckily, he managed to power through the feeling of being sick.

"I…may have heard something, yes."

It was a lie, for Draco had heard nothing, hadn't received an owl, or even a comment. But that didn't matter.

Flint was trying to focus his vision, his eyes crossing from too much drink.

"Rookwood had sent me an owl the other mornin', and when I found out about the child, I told Pansy the order had come from Zabini, ya know. She saw red, she did. Went on a rampage, and she was right bloody livid that she couldn't do anythin' about it."

He gave Draco a lecherous grin.

"Then that sweet thing you call a wife happened to be there. I don't think that was a coincidence."

Draco's fingers closed more tightly around his glass as he stared at Flint. No, it _wouldn't_ have been a coincidence, he knew. Astoria was as ruthless as she was beautiful, and even though, under normal circumstances and what was deemed appropriate for a woman of her standing, he would have never guessed her to do something so underhanded, he also knew that when in one of her bouts of rage, he would put nothing beneath her.

_Including, apparently, breaking into my office._

Now, Draco was sorry he had ever mentioned Ministry business to his wife, whom had never shown any interest. His mind flickered back to numerous nights when he had been subjected to sitting with his wife in the same room after dinner, and making small talk to keep the tension at a tolerable level. He couldn't remember all that he had told her, for most of it had been minute work detail – talk that he had never imagined her to be interested in. Indeed, she had often laughed him off, telling him she had no time or patience for the horrid place he worked.

But clearly, he had underestimated his wife; she had managed to read between some of the lines and had remembered that the issues with Zabini went back months and months. He knew he HAD mentioned the rumors about Zabini – maybe not in great detail and never with any of his suspicions, but he had made talk about it all the same.

_She mus__t have been planning this! But why? And why Pansy of all women? _

Though Draco was no conceited enough to believe that Astoria felt any great affection towards him, in spite of their nearly seven year long marriage, he was no fool and he knew that both Pansy and Astoria loathed one another. Pansy's hatred was easily definable; he knew Pansy wanted him, and he was married to Astoria. His wife's hatred of Pansy had always been more difficult to understand. In the end, he had chalked it up to Astoria's propensity for selfishness and territorialism.

_So what are they doing?_

The idea that his own wife had been plotting against him made Draco's blood run cold. Had he been so wrapped up in Hermione that he hadn't seen it? No. Impossible. Though Granger, for whatever reason, was his weakness, he hadn't ever been so _blind-_

"Oi, you wanker! You listenin' ta me?"

Flint had spoken over a fresh pint of ale, his eyes glazed. Draco offered a congenial smile.

"I apologize," he responded, giving his best effort at chumminess. "My wife, as you know, can be rather determined, so no, I don't think it was a coincidence."

_Please, please, please let him know why!_

It wasn't like he could come out and ask, so he could only hope that Flint would be drunk enough to tell. And, for once, luck smiled down on Draco.

"She's got Pansy watchin' ya, mate! The regular jealous wifey, she is, eh? Maybe you haven't been slippin' it to her enough, yeah?"

Draco's face paled, and his lips turned down into a livid sneer.

"What are you talking about?"

Flint let out a hyena-like laugh, spilling some of his drink.

"Are your daft, mate? Astoria is jealous! Even a blind wanker ought to see that, eh? I don't get it, Malfoy! You're not exactly a pleasant fellow, are ya? And yet, you've got every bitch in this city panting after you like the bitches they are. So explain that to me, or at least let me in on your bloody secrets. Pansy and I had a thing and you've gone and fucking ruined it."

Draco stared down at the top of the bar, blinking for a moment, completely taken aback by what Flint had just revealed. He had expected any number of vapid reasons for Astoria's motivation, but never had he believed it had anything to do with-

_She's made a deal with Parkinson to watch me? Could she really be jealous? This whole time? _

He shook his head, floored by that possibility for it gave him a heady, dizzying feeling of control. That faded within seconds, replaced by what he knew was the truth.

"She's not jealous, you dimwit. You'd think, meeting her enough times, that you would know what she's like. It's about propriety for her. Appearance. What things look like, not what they are. She doesn't care about me."

Flint drained his ale and blinked at Draco blearily.

"Maybe. She wants to know if you're fucking the Mudblood."

Taken aback, Draco swallowed.

"She's delusional!

His lie was nonchalant, but inside, terror gripped him.

Flint rolled his eyes.

"Actually, come to think of it, both of them want to know."

Draco shook his head.

"How do I even know you're telling me the truth?" he hissed leaning towards Flint. The thoroughly pissed man laughed.

"Payback is a barmy bitch, mate. She'll get what's comin' to 'er."

Draco nodded. This, at least, was true.

One good turn deserved another, after all.

* * *

><p>The two women sat side by side, clasping hands. The hard plastic chairs that sat outside of Pansy Parkinson's office were more than just uncomfortable. Hermione wondered if that's how Pansy wanted it; anyone who came to visit her would be on edge from the beginning.<p>

Strange, wayward thoughts nibbled on the edges of her conscience, and the whole of the morning she had spent in a daze, not even certain if Ginny, Justin or anyone had tried to speak with her. She knew that, several times, Ginny had tried to talk to her, but for the life of her, Hermione could not recall now what had been said.

She was gripped by fear, her hands and other extremities icy with it, and her stomach had been unsettled for hours, churning violently so that she had vomited up her meager breakfast. Luckily, there hadn't been much, for Hermione had forgotten how bad it as at the alienage.

That morning she had awoken her toes and fingers frozen, to find that during the night the officials had come and taken away a group of Muggle-borns to replace the new ones to come that night. Her heart had wept for the ones that were now gone, hoping that their deaths had not been too painful. Then, she had begun to think of Marcus Flint inside the row buildings, and finally, of Pansy Parkinson to whom she would soon belong.

But, that was worth it.

_It has to be. I have to be strong, and this is the right thing for Lily, and for Ginny. They didn't deserve this hell. No one does, but least of all them! They were too good to me all those years. _

So, instead of sobbing into her lumpy pillow, Hermione had swallowed her fear, and gotten up, trying to keep her threadbare blanket around her shoulders to ward off the cold.

Thankfully, Ginny had taken Hermione's arrival at the alienage in silence, not asking any questions, not making any comments, although her eyes had flickered in the other woman's direction several times with concern. If she had wondered why Hermione was no longer working for Malfoy, she didn't ask.

The worst part, Hermione had come to find, was Lavender.

The blonde woman had watched her all morning with a mixture of contempt and knowing that drove Hermione mad. The look in Lavender's blue eyes was one of understanding.

_She knows where I've been, and what's happened. She knows how I feel about-_

Yes, it was the worst part, because those knowing blue eyes reminded Hermione of Malfoy, of what she had left behind, of all the things he had told her the night before.

_I love you, Hermione._

She closed her eyes as a shield against her feelings.

_Don't you love me?_

What did it matter, even if she had? What did love have to do with Lily and the position they were both in? Would love change the fact that he had taken the Dark Mark so long ago? Would it change the fact that her parents had been Muggles?

_What we had doesn't even matter? I only did it to save Lily's life, and now I know I shouldn't have trusted him!_

That part hurt the worst, and no whispered admissions of love had lessened the sting of betrayal. It was what it was, and now, Hermione had the means with which she could help Lily, and she would focus on nothing else.

_What could have been is over. What could have been is impossible, and what was shouldn't have happened. That's all. _

She winced, her heart aching with every beat.

_It doesn't matter what I thought I felt. What I was hoping he felt. It just _doesn't.

Ginny's touch broke Hermione's sad reverie, making the other woman jump slightly.

"You all right?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'm fine."

The hallway of the building was empty, but it was blessedly warm, unlike the rest of the alienage. It filled Hermione with a feeling of bitterness.

_That's right. You can spend the whole of the coming winter keeping warm while those around you freeze to death. So long as the Ministry is well and thriving, that's all that matters, yeah? _

Next to her, Ginny sighed.

"Hermione, I haven't asked much about what is going on."

The two friends gazed at each other for a moment.

"I just want to know what's going on. Why we're here. I don't want to see _that_ woman."

Ginny shuddered, and it made Hermione feel bad. Even worse than what she already did. She liked her lips for her mouth felt incredibly dry.

"I promised you I'd help make sure Lily was all right, and I'm doing just that. I promise," she vowed, putting her hand over Ginny's.

She flashed back to the night before, turning herself into the night officer, telling him she needed to see Pansy Parkinson. He had reported the request, and Pansy had agreed instantly, setting up an exchange that morning. Hermione felt like a prisoner; she was offering one life to spare another. She didn't believe Pansy would allow her a sweet death, for that would be too easy. She knew the possibility of what she was facing and-

_And, I won't think of it. I won't until I have to, and even then, I won't think of what is happening. I'll think of him. I'll think of him because he loves me._

He loved her, and she had walked away from him.

A tear rolled down her face and Ginny, distraught, reached over to wipe it from Hermione's pale cheek.

"Please, talk to me."

"I can't."

The silence was only broken by the occasional word or laugh from behind closed doors, and the sound of footsteps as they passed from one place to another. Hermione never said another word, but she wondered what was keeping Pansy Parkinson.

She was late.

* * *

><p><em>Central London<em>

The little girl stood behind Pansy, her wide, green eyes round with anticipation. Pansy had told her they were going back to her mother, and for the first time in months, there was emotion on the child's face, tears glittering in her green eyes, and she made a strange sound, to which Pansy nearly smacked her.

How she had loathed the child! How she had hated doing this – taking care of another human being that she hadn't even wanted to, all in hopes of securing what she believed should have been hers from the beginning.

Finally, she had received the communication she had hoped for; Hermione Granger had offered herself in exchange for Lily's Potter's return to the alienage.

_Sure took bloody long enough!_

She questioned as to why now, and not before, but she wasn't stupid enough to contemplate or voice her questions. She would simply accept the offer, and then make sure the Mudblood never saw the light of day again. It's not like she gave a bloody damn about the other woman, it was more that _Draco_ seemed to, in spite of his marriage and in spite of everything. That was what bothered Pansy; that was what she loathed more than anything else in the world.

And so, she was going to make sure that he wouldn't have anyone else to care about. She wasn't worried about Astoria, for she believed wholeheartedly that Draco cared nothing for his wife. But, the Mudblood…well, that was entirely something different. She didn't understand it, and inexplicability bred fear within her, and that fear motivated her.

It wasn't like she could kill the Mudblood outright. The Ministry would ask too many questions, and in some way, Draco would resent her. No, she'd have to find another way to get rid of her. Perhaps, send her away to be killed elsewhere. Have someone else do it, make it look like an accident. She had options, but she needed time. And while she waited, she'd keep the woman close, for having her close meant having ultimate control.

Draco wouldn't interfere; she would do as she pleased.

Pansy turned towards the child.

"Move, we're leaving now," she ordered, and just as the little girl took a step forward, there was a sharp, hard rapping on her door.

"Bollocks," she muttered under her breath, thoroughly irritated that someone had to come calling at just that moment.

Pink-faced, she swung open the door.

Draco Malfoy stood on the stoop, his silver eyes flashing dangerously. He looked disheveled; it seemed as he hadn't slept. His platinum hair was plastered to his face from the earlier rain, and there was dirt on his boots and the bottom of his heavy traveling cloak.

The smile he offered was menacing.

"Surprised to see me, Parkinson?"

He sneered at her.

"Bad time?"

Pansy swallowed. She knew something was not right, and all her earlier concerns and thoughts faded in light of Draco's unexpected arrival.

"I was just leaving, but if you have something you need to speak to me about, I'll be at the office in the alienage."

Draco took a step in, and he left muddied footprints behind him.

"Yes, I do have something to talk to you about, but, no, I won't be talking to you at the alienage. We're going to have it out now."

Pansy rolled her eyes, reaching for her long coat.

"Says who? Do you declare yourself in charge of my personal life, where I go, who I see, and when you and I will speak? Sorry, Malfoy, I'm leaving."

She moved forward, forcing her head high even though she was a bit afraid of the look on Draco's face, but he stopped her in one harsh, yet graceful move.

"You're not going anywhere."

His voice was smooth, a whisper of sibilant quality. She pushed against him, but found him unyielding and his expression unforgiving.

"Get out of my way, you complete prat!"

As she watched, his lip quivered up into a satisfied smirk.

"Not until you give me the child."

Pansy smiled in return, which caused his smirk to fade, replaced by uncertainty.

"Is that what you want, Draco?" she purred.

He paused, confused at the sudden change in her. At first, he had been glad to see she was afraid, but now, she was offering him a secret smirk of her own, as if the whole situation amused her. This made Draco livid.

"It's not even about what I want. It's about what I'm going to get. Now. Hand the child over."

This time, Pansy laughed.

"I already have!"

She stepped away from the doorway, allowing him to see the child. Lily stood still, watching them in silence.

"I suppose both of you finally came to your senses, didn't you? Bloody time, I say. As I said, I'm going to the alienage to make the exchange."

She smirked once more.

"Hermione Granger's mine."

The pleasantries in her tone caused Draco to snap. Moving quickly, he yanked on Pansy's shoulder, pushing her back into the apartment and slamming the door shut behind her. Then he advanced on her, his face white.

"No, she's not."

Pansy laughed at him, a mocking, cruel sound, in spite of it's beauty.

"Oh? Pray tell me how you've gone and decided that?"

"Trust me, once you know what I know, you'll do as I say."

Then, with that, he dragged her out of the living room so they could be alone.


	34. Chapter 34

_Thank you as always for all your feedback, guys, and to the lovely review left by a reader on her bio – I'm flattered. And happy. You guys are all so awesome. Here's the next chapter – I'm thinking it's not quite what people are expecting. Which is kind of how I like it? Maybe. It might be my last update until the weekend, but we shall see. I'm busy editing my apple fic. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR<p>

* * *

><p>The kitchen was too small, Pansy realized. And the fact that Draco advanced on her like some sort of wild animal didn't help. She backed into the small table that stood in the corner of the white and beige colored room.<p>

"What's gotten into you? You're off your trolley!"

Her voice was a frightened hiss, but Pansy tried not to show her fear.

"No, I'm quite sane, I assure you."

Draco stopped in the middle of the kitchen, watching her with an icy, calculating gaze. For a moment Pansy swallowed, trying to tear her eyes away from that gaze, but he wouldn't allow it, making her feel trapped and nervous. The seconds ticked by, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you want from me?"

There was a silence in which she thought she'd go out of her mind, and then he spoke.

"I'll be taking Lily Potter with me today, and you're going to pretend I was never here."

Pansy's eyes widened.

"You want her? You can come to my office."

Draco's face became a stark white, the lines hardening. He reached out and yanked on her overcoat, effectively stopping any movement she may have made.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear enough," he whispered against her ear. "But, I said she'll be leaving with me."

Pansy writhed out of his grasp, panting.

"Don't you dare manipulate me!"

"That's rich!"

His laugh held no warmth.

"You think I don't know what you and my wife did, Parkinson?"

She said nothing, but her expression spoke a thousand words. He offered a smile, before stepping even closer.

"That desperate, are you?" he continued to whisper, his words as sharp as ice picks, causing Pansy's blood to freeze.

She shook her head, swallowing hard.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It was strange, how even caught in the lie, Pansy refused to admit it. She tried to step out of his grasp, but Draco did not relinquish his tight hold on her.

"I think you do."

His grip tightened.

"I hate being manipulated, Parkinson."

"I never manipulated you!"

Her eyes flashed with loathing as she spoke.

"I gave you a choice, didn't I?"

Draco's jaw twitched, but other than that, he was still as death.

"No, you manipulated me from the beginning, and I let you. No more. I told you already what's going to happen."

"Over my dead body, you'll take that child. She's mine."

Her sneer dripped with vehemence and finally, she yanked away from him in a near violent fashion. For a second, he was floored at the grace with which she moved, for Pansy wasn't by any means a graceful woman. In fact, she was rather rough around the edges.

A second was all she needed, and the witch had her wand out.

"Expelliarmus!" she hissed, and Draco jumped out of the way, running into the small kitchen table, wincing with the pain it caused.

"Incarcerous!"

With a squeal, Pansy was bound to the nearest chair with invisible, magical ropes.

"You insufferable arsehole!"

She spat the words whilst squirming violently in the chair, nearly knocking it over in her vehemence. Her face had turned an unsightly shade of red, her black hair falling into her eyes as she struggled.

"Let me go!"

Draco watched her struggling in cold silence, waiting for the inevitable; she would have to spend her energy sometime, and then, she would be still.

Finally, she gave up. Her body stopped moving, and she went limp against her magical bonds. It seemed like she was lifeless, if not for her eyes, which snapped at him with rabid quality, as if she were an animal trapped against her will.

Draco knelt down next to Parkinson, snatching her wand from her curled fingers.

"You cost Blaise Zabini his job," he began slowly, hoping that she would understand where he was going.

She snorted with reproach.

"I did everyone a favor," she hissed. "How can anyone call him a man after he defiled himself the way he did?"

Draco smiled tolerantly, knowing it was only possible because he finally had something on her that no one else did. He planned on using it to his advantage.

"You'll lose your job."

Her eyes widened.

"I won't!"

"You will, if I go to Bellatrix and tell her what you did."

Once more, she began to struggle, though it was weaker this time.

"And why would Bellatrix care? Once she learns what Zabini's done, and what he's bred, none of this will matter! She'll be on my side!"

Draco cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Don't be so sure. When everything is said and done, no one wants fighting within the Ministry, do they? She won't be happy when she learns the lengths you've gone to, Parkinson. Especially for such self-serving purposes."

She was choked; it was as if her lungs refused to work, causing her breathing to hitch, and her vision to blur. At first, she wasn't aware of the tears, but then they coursed down her face, burning hot against her skin. She hadn't considered this; she hadn't intended to have anyone find out about her involvement in what had happened to Zabini. Her job was the only certainty in her mostly uncertain life, the only thing that she cherished.

The terror coursed through her, a vicious cyclone of emotion.

And though she wished for silence, Draco continued to speak.

"This war the Ministry started years ago is still raging on, Parkinson. Bellatrix might hate the idea of an official mating with a Mudblood, but she lets it happen anyway, doesn't she? And she'd rather that go on, pretending like it doesn't, than have officials fighting between each other, stabbing each other in the back."

His face registered no emotion; his words were simply that – words.

"We need to be united as a front against what is coming. In all war there is resistance, isn't there? We're facing it now, with the WERA coming after us each month, with what happened at Zabini's alienage. There are two sides to this mess and sometimes, I think Voldemort has forgotten that he still faces opposition."

Pansy wriggled against her bonds, her face turning a brilliant crimson.

"He'll still win in the end! We've already won! This isn't a war! And I won't lose my job!"

Her reply was confident, although Draco sensed something he hadn't expected – a touch of panic.

_Perhaps she's not as certain as she wants to be. Merlin knows, none of us should be. We're fighting a war__ whether we believe or not, and our leader cares nothing for his followers._

"Perhaps now," he said softly. "But it won't always be like this. Use your head, Parkinson! I know you have one; you were always smart. You went behind my back. You went behind everyone's back. Why would you have done that if only to keep yourself clear of what's happened. You fear losing your job, don't you? Because you knew it could happen if someone found out what you did."

He paused, smirking.

"And, I did."

They stared at each other in a long moment of silence pregnant with tension and looming confrontation.

She felt as if she were being stretched impossibly, as if each breath would cause her to snap.

Angry and terrified, she let out a strangled cry.

"They Ministry ought to be glad I rid them of a traitor like Blaise Zabini!"

Draco laughed cruelly.

"I could understand it if you had done it for just that reason – to rid the Ministry of a traitor. But, you didn't! You did it because Zabini got in the way of your plans, didn't he?"

The color drained from her face just as quickly as it had bloomed there.

Draco continued.

"Your boyfriend's been fucking every Mudblood he can get his hands on, and you know that! If you cared so much about a man defiling himself and keeping his position in the Ministry, wouldn't you have turned him in? Or Greyback, Mulciber, Rookwood, and Macnair? Haven't you taken them all to bed at some point or another?"

He laughed, hiding his disgust.

"Do you think I'm that stupid, Parkinson?"

"You don't understand!"

Her wail echoed in the starkly silent room and Draco only shook his head, his fists clenched at his sides stiffly.

"Then, make me understand, Parkinson. You'd use a child to manipulate me? What purpose would it serve? What is this goal that you have, and why do you feel such a need to control me and Hermione Granger?"

No sooner had he uttered the question, Parkinson's face changed. And what replaced the look of anger rattled something inside of Draco.

He had known her too many years, and he had seen facets of her personality that most others wouldn't have had the chance to see. She had been stubborn and willful in school, quite conceited and certain of everything she did and set her sights on. Petulance and childishness had gone hand in hand. She had never been delicate or pretentious, putting on airs, or acting like she was weak and vulnerable. Instead, she had been strong, a fighter, a girl who ran around with the boys, and then a woman who had seized power willingly, embracing it, and molding it to her liking. Never, in all the time he had known her, had she behaved like a woman would have given what they had all been through. So, Draco had forgotten to see her as one. He had never found her attractive. She had been little more to him than a nuisance, and a rather rough and bullying one at that. He had found her too wily and manipulative, driven by her own selfish wants.

Pansy Parkinson was many things, both desirable and disgusting, but weak, she was not. In fact, one of the only things he had ever admired about her was her strength. The world had been crumbling down around them for years, washing away in its storm all those too weak to withstand it. But Parkinson, well, she had thrived. She had survived, and she had risen in the ranks.

In that moment, however, he realized that underneath it all, she was still human. And she _hurt. _He saw it in the fall of her face, in the tears she tried to withhold, in vain. He saw it in the tremble of her lips. She was still just a woman, after all. He loathed her, for she had long ago lost her conscience and the things she had been doing were despicable, but something in her face gave Draco pause.

Parkinson's voice was broken.

"Have you ever once considered what I've been through?"

She was embarrassed; he could see that now.

"Did you once ever consider my feelings? Don't you see that it's not about Hermione Granger? It's about my own bloody sanity, Draco! I've had to watch you marry someone else! Have a son with someone else! Be ignored and treated like I'm nothing, while I've waited, hoping that you'd-"

He watched as she dropped her face, hiding her tears, too proud to look in him in the eyes and cry.

"And then, something about that piece of Mudblood filth-"

Once more, she fell silent, but the rage that washed over her in waves was nearly physical; she was trembling with it, shaking against her bonds.

"Maybe you'll never understand what it's like to watch someone that you want so much, be with someone else."

Her voice was small, beaten down and defeated. And so unlike the Pansy Parkinson Draco knew, that it was rather alarming.

"All those years in school, and never once did you notice! You ran off and married the first woman you parents suggested, didn't you? Why not consider me? Why not see that, in the grand scheme of things, we could have been happy? There were a lot of things that you and I went through over the years, and most of them made no sense. This whole world makes no sense, Draco! Do you really think that I'm living this life without asking questions, and without worrying about what tomorrow will bring?"

She struggled once more against her bindings.

"I'm nearly as terrified as everyone else, but I'm going to be strong because it's all I've got! Nothing makes sense to me, but you did! You and I, our life, our future, together, that made sense to me! I've had to watch you move on with your own life, married to someone else. Don't make me do it again!"

As she looked up, Draco could only feel sorry for her. The truth was, he felt very little else.

"I've loved you all this time," she whispered. "And I wish I could stop. I can't bear the idea of you and that Mudblood-"

For a third time, she fell into a painful, helpless silence.

As Draco stood there, facing a woman he had known his whole life, and never actually _considered _a woman, or a life partner, he felt a strange, cold anger churning within him.

_Why don't I love her?_

He had never asked himself that question; it had always simply been the truth. When one felt so strongly about something, there was no need to question it, after all.

_Why haven't I ever loved her?_

Faced with the honesty in her eyes, Draco forced himself to face his feelings for Parkinson. Loving her would have made things easier. He had not married Astoria for love, and if one pureblood was good enough to marry, why not another?

The irony was that, in spite of his abhorrence for Parkinson's behavior, Draco didn't truly hate her.

_She's right._

In the grand scheme of things, as she had put it, their relationship would have made sense. Love had never been an issue for Draco, and he wondered what it would have been like to marry a woman who actually _did_ love him, instead of a cold, porcelain doll who was beautiful to look at, but whose loveliness hid a rotten core.

At least, Parkinson made no pretenses to who she really was, and Draco knew her.

_But still, in the end, I would never have been able to marry her. __Why?_

Sometimes, there were no answers, he realized.

Her tears touched him, even though Draco didn't want them to. It was strange, really. He swallowed, angry at first with himself, and then with Hermione.

_I'm married to a woman I hate, and I'm too weak to leave her. I could have married a woman who loved me, and I was too stupid to do so. And now, I'm in love with Hermione, and…_

Nothing would be the same again, he knew. Because now, he knew what it was like to be in love with someone, and he couldn't belong to anyone else, again. Ironically, he wondered if what he was feeling now, the loss of Hermione, was anything like what he had put Pansy through.

Maybe, it was.

As she had been talking, Draco had stood, facing away from her, but now, he knelt down next to her again.

"I've known how you've felt about me. You've made nothing a secret, Pansy. You make nothing a secret once you've decided you want it badly enough."

She watched him, her eyes glazed with tears she had yet to shed. A small choked sound escaped her, but Draco would never know it was because of how beautiful her name sounded on his lips. The unshed, glimmering tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.

"The thing you should realize is that I won't apologize for my own feelings. And using a child to come after me won't change a thing. I won't let you terrorize another human being or beat Granger to death simply because you think we should be together."

Her body visibly stiffened and her jaw clenched.

"How can I give up on something that I know feels right?"

The choked, throaty question was something Draco couldn't answer. And he knew he was treading on dangerous ground; Pansy was weak now, but soon, she would feel humiliated and her anger would return.

"I don't know. But going after Granger won't change a thing. Give it up."

He swallowed, as he allowed her eyes to search his. Her voice was low when she spoke, the earlier brokenness gone now.

"I know you. You've gone and fallen for her, haven't you?"

It was the calm in the storm, Draco knew. Hermione was in danger.

"No, I haven't."

His gaze hardened and he refused to let it falter. One misstep, one sign of weakness and Parkinson would have the answer she was seeking.

"She's just another _Mudblood_."

Draco gave her a stony glare, his jaw twitching.

"You might no longer have a conscience. Merlin knows I understand that. We've all been put through too much, and we've all handled it differently."

That was the truth; some had been broken, others had forced themselves to stop thinking on all the things they were doing. And Pansy had checked her conscience at the door, determined to do whatever it took to maintain control of her life and to rise within the newly formed Ministry.

She was the worst kind, he decided, even if a part of him would always admire her twisted tenacity.

Draco scowled.

"But, I still do, and I refuse to allow unnecessary violence. Lily Potter is a child. Hermione Granger is no different than any other person at the alienage, and I won't have you singling her out simply because you've deluded yourself into thinking I care for her."

Parkinson's eyes narrowed and her throat moved; the words were thick when she spoke them.

"I'm not delusional."

"You are if you believe there's anything between Granger and I."

He stood, swallowing hard. Telling the truth was no option, he knew.

"Do you want the truth?"

She glared at him.

"The truth is I know how you feel."

A strange silence settled upon them, like a thick blanket, muffling all other sounds.

"I don't believe you. Not for a moment. Not the Draco Malfoy I know, anyway. You've spent most of you life without consideration of what anyone but you might feel."

The words were harsh, but he didn't completely deny them; in some ways, they were true.

"That all changed when I met Astoria."

The woman bound to the kitchen chair stared up at him mutely; her expression was one of considerable shock.

"I know how you feel because I've spent the last six years of my life in love with a woman who doesn't love me back."

His eyes never wavered, so that no one would be the better.

"I don't believe you," she whispered, her eyes narrowing.

"You don't have to. It's still just as true."

Parkinson wore an expression which reflected disgust.

"You mean me to believe that in spite of the countless times you bad-mouthed her to me? Mocked her for her stupidity and the fact that she has no real emotions?"

Her words were cold, dripping with disdain. His gray eyes reflected her tone.

"What's a man to do, Parkinson? I gave her everything. I've done what I could to make her want me the way I want her and it's been for nothing. I couldn't…just admit to the rest of the world how little she thinks of me! These unrequited feelings are with me all the time, from the moment I awaken to the moment I lie down to sleep! I wasn't going to give up my pride, too!"

Draco hoped it was convincing; he hoped both for himself and for Hermione's sake. A look of contempt colored Parkinson's face, and Draco could see that she was no longer certain of what the truth was.

_I can do this. I know I can. I have to. I have to._

"I know you don't think so. I know you hate her. The whole world seems to, but I know a different side to her, and I just…I can't explain what it is. I do understand that I love her. She's the only one."

He paused for effect.

"How can I explain something I can't understand, Pansy?"

It was strange how much control he had over Parkinson, just by using her name. Her mouth moved, as if she was going to say something, but only a sigh escaped along with one rogue tear. It glittered along her cheek and trembled on her chin before falling.

"How can you explain...?"

Her pathetic echo died away, as her mind spun, making her sick. She couldn't understand it! How could he be in love with someone who treated him so horribly?

_Well, I suppose you should ask yourself that question._

Her dismal reality settled over Pansy. Bloody hell, it more like crashed down over her head, nearly knocking her unconscious. She looked away from Draco, her breath coming heavy and fast.

"Let me go," she growled miserably, twisting against her magical bonds in a futile manner.

He stood, gazing down at her, feeling a strange mixture of understanding and sympathy. It didn't sit well with him, not at all.

"Only if you understand what I'm telling you. You can't keep that child here. Nothing will come of it, because I can't change how I feel, any more than you can."

The two stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

"Have you ever cared about me, Draco?"

It was a strange question, that. His brow furrowed for a second.

"Not the way you've wanted me to."

He swallowed.

"But, yes."

She looked away finally, taking a breath.

"Let me go, and I'll do as you ask," she finally spoke. "A transfer out of my alienage, as soon as you possibly can."

There was a long silence. Perhaps, it wasn't exactly the way he would have wanted it, but all the same, Hermione would be safe. And it wasn't like she loved him or anything like that.

_So, what's it matter?_

He lifted his wand and whispered the incantation and Pansy felt her bonds loosening, and then disappearing. She stood on wobbly legs.

"I know you care more than most men in your position would," she whispered. "A long time ago, I think I knew how to care, too. There's still this part of me…"

Her hand covered her heart, but no words were possible.

"There's still this part of me that remembers how to."

Then she swallowed her face pale and colored with despair.

"If you've ever cared for me, please."

Draco stared at her, wishing he could understand her better, know what was going on in her mind, because her silence, her strange, broken words were infuriating simply because he didn't understand anymore, where they were coming from. It wasn't exactly terrifying, although it unsettled him.

But, she remained still, the fight in her gone.

"Fine," he replied stiffly. "I'll see to it once they replace Zabini. You won't have to deal with that anymore. No one will."

She nodded.

"And you won't say anything about…what I did? I want to keep my job."

Her voice was tight and it trembled.

"I'll agree so long as you hold up your half of the bargain. The girl is mine, and you'll leave Hermione Granger alone."

Draco would never know if their deal was satisfactory to her, but he didn't think much further past the situation at hand. At least, Lily would be safe. He had held up his half of the promise made to Granger. Even though everything between them would remain as it was, he knew.

_In this world, we aren't meant to be together. I was a fool. And now, look at me._

There was nothing more to say, and although Draco believed that much between them was still left unsaid, and for the better. He nodded, feeling awkwardness now, and turned to go.

Her voice broke into the silence.

"You're too good for her, Draco. Maybe someday, you'll be able to break out of whatever hold she has on you."

Draco thought for a moment, he ought to have turned around, said something back. But, he never did. He simply walked out of the room and found Lily Potter still standing near the closet, watching him with eyes too much like Harry Potter's.

"Come along," he said stiffly.

The child didn't move. There was no sound from the kitchen; there was no sound from anywhere.

"I'm taking you to your mother."

The child hesitated, and then took a step towards Draco, and he felt horribly at the fearful way in which she reacted.

_Poor thing._

"Come on, then."

He opened the door, and the little girl moved quickly through it, turning her face up towards Draco, as if for confirmation. He nodded, and she hurried down the stairs, without looking back.

Draco felt guilty. He wasn't sure exactly _why,_ but still, he felt it. Lying to Parkinson? Protecting Hermione? Hadn't he been doing those things all along? Why feel guilty now?

The child was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, by the huge door which she had attempted to open with no success. He opened the door to the sound of tires on the pavement, and water dripping from the awnings around them and the colorful umbrellas that passed them by on the walk ways.

He knelt in front of the little girl.

"Bundle up, it's cold."

She stood, staring at him with those large, green eyes, but did not move. Gingerly, Draco took a moment to make sure she was closely bundled, and pulled the hood over her face, in case someone were to recognize her.

Then, moving quickly, and taking her tiny hand in his, he moved towards an alleyway from which they could apparate. He hoped the child was familiar with such a thing, because he wouldn't risk being seen – not now.

One street over he ducked under a red and white striped awning and dashed into a secluded corner between two brick buildings. Then, he knelt down, pulling out his portkey.

"We're going to your mother now."

His voice was low, and the little girl pushed back her hood. She had startling porcelain skin and a head full of riotous dark auburn curls.

"Thank you, Mister."

He swallowed past a lump in his throat, feeling his eyes water.

"Did she hurt you?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No. But I miss my Mama."

"I know."

The wind picked up, howling through the alley, and making Draco shiver. The gold watch glimmered in the shadows.

"Have you used a portkey?"

Somehow, he doubted it, and the little girl's curiosity confirmed his doubts.

"It's magic."

"Mama shows me magic. She says I can do magic, too."

He nodded.

"Someday."

Then, he reached out to her.

"Hold my hand, then. We'll go together."

Those green eyes flickered away from Draco's face and down to his pale, long-fingered hand. After a moment, she slipped her tiny fingers in between two of his, and then squeezed.

She looked up, smiling just a little. It was sweet; a bit uncertain, and mostly shy. She had a dimple in her left cheek.

"Don't let go," he whispered, reaching down to touch the portkey with his other hand. As they disappeared with a whirl and rush, Draco felt his tears come, brought on by the image of his little boy.

Lily Potter's smile had reminded him.


	35. Chapter 35

_Thanks as usual, everyone! Here's more to answer some of the questions I've gotten. The next chapter marks the middle of my story, so it gives everyone an idea of where I'm at. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p>In the new world, simple joys were fleeting; happiness only a thing of the past. In the new world, joy and happiness had long been buried by the oppression of despair and hopelessness that so often monopolized the minds of those still somehow alive and trying to get by, one day at a time.<p>

Hermione stood, rendered immobile by her shock, and wondered if that was why she couldn't move and was having trouble breathing. Joy happened so infrequently that when, finally, in the face of such a pure emotion, it was startling.

Pansy had been late; at first, only a few moments, and then, half and hour had gone by, and soon after that, an hour. Confusion had taken residence in Hermione's battered heart, and her hands had gone icy and stiff from tension and the grip she had on the hard, plastic chair she was sitting in. That was, until the moment Lily Potter walked into the hallway from the door that led to the outside. Nothing had prepared Hermione for seeing her again; her heart stopped, her eyes filled with tears of disbelief and joy, and she let out a soft, strangled sob.

_Lily!_

It was as if her voice had deserted her, and Hermione could find no strength with which to say the little girl's name.

Yes, she had been rendered immobile, only able to gaze as Ginny fell to her knees on the dirty floor outside of Pansy Parkinson's office at the alienage, tears of joy streaming down her face and a smile of sheer happiness lighting up her eyes.

"Lily, oh, my baby!"

"Mamma!"

The reunion was the first moment of pure joy that Hermione had felt since that summer, when Ginny and the children had been brought back to the alienage. It was different than the heady feeling of comfort she had found in Draco's arms, and different than the subtle thankfulness that each day she was still alive, still able to be with Ginny and Justin and some of the others. No, this was joy the way she remembered it from her Hogwarts days, from her growing up, from the pleasures in the world before this one. This was the same joy she had felt when looking into Ron's eyes the night of their impromptu wedding. The bubbling of joy from those moments spent in the presence of her new family, the Weasleys, while still on the run from Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

This was joy, unadulterated by fear and the worries of the past and of the future.

_Oh, Lily, you're safe!_

Nothing seemed amiss, Hermione realized with a start. She seemed unharmed, and when she moved to hug her mother, to kiss her cheek, there was no heaviness to her actions, no limp, nothing to indicate that Pansy had harmed her in any way. Hermione did not dare hope that in this, something had gone right. That whatever God still remained, had watched over Harry and Ginny's child while she had been in the clutches of a woman as repugnant as Pansy Parkinson.

But, there it was.

"'Mione!"

It was the sound of her sweet voice that broke Hermione out of her frozen state, her limbs melting, her tears coming now as she knelt to gather the little girl into her arms and holding her tight. She was whole, and healthy, from the top of her auburn hair and the wide, trusting gaze that only a child could possess, to the tips of her scuffed boots. There was nothing amiss, Hermione realized, as she clutched the girl to her chest, feeling Lily's tiny heart fluttering with life and strength against her. She nearly began to sob as she kissed the child's long, soft tresses.

Yes, this was real; this was true joy. This was something the Ministry, and all those who were trying to destroy her, would never take away.

"Lily, I'm so glad you're safe."

She managed to whisper the words, her voice catching in her throat, and sounding broken and strained even though she was so happy.

When Lily pulled away, Hermione gazed on her face once more.

"She…didn't hurt you, did she?"

Hermione realized how much she hated herself for allowing fear and doubt to corrupt the perfect moment of happiness.

Lily shook her head, though the look in her eyes darkened a bit, with worry.

"No, 'Mione. But, you won't make me go back, will you? I wanna stay here."

The two women wrapped their arms around Lily again, and Ginny wiped her tear-stained eyes.

"No, baby girl, no one is going to make you go back," she determined, her jaw tightening. Hermione stroked Lily's hair.

"You're here with us now. I promise, you won't go anywhere again without one of us."

Lily leaned against her mother's neck, wordlessly asking to be held and comforted, and Ginny didn't hesitate to do so.

Hermione searched her friend's face, seeing that Ginny was overjoyed.

It was worth it, Hermione knew, to see this moment between mother and daughter.

_It's what I'll remember when that horrid woman comes. It's what I'll have to remember, because they'll try to make me forget. I won't be afraid; this is what I'm supposed to do._

But, at the thought of Pansy and what was to come, fear filled her heart, oily and cloying, clinging to her senses, paralyzing her. It froze her emotions, like a lake in wintertime.

"Potter, you need to leave."

The words were cold; they were a bitter reminder that even the most perfect joys would forever be tainted. When Hermione glanced up, away from Lily, she could see him. He stood framed in the doorway, wearing a long, thick traveling cloak, his platinum hair falling into his eyes.

Her heart flipped.

And, she abhorred herself for it, for allowing him in, for trusting him, for ever having touched him. Hermione closed her eyes tightly against the onslaught that she knew was coming. Her heart had betrayed her many times when it had come to Draco Malfoy, she knew.

_Not this time! I won't allow this._

Once more, as countless times since he had said it-

_Don't you love me, Hermione?_

She bit the inside of her lip, wanting pain, something – anything – to break her of whatever spell that he had her under. Blocking out all other emotion, Hermione fought to stare at the ground, refusing to look up, to meet his mesmerizing eyes.

She heard Lily whispering to her mother, and Ginny helping her little girl to her feet.

"'Mione, you coming?"

Hermione reached over to take Lily's hand in her own for a moment.

"I can't little one. I have to wait here."

It was difficult to look up, to see Lily's sweet face again. But, she did it.

"I'll come soon."

Ginny's brown eyes were questioning.

"Hermione, is everything all right?"

"I have to wait for Pansy."

"But, I-"

"Please, Ginny."

Ginny would not be deterred, and she turned away from Hermione.

"What's this about?" she asked Draco, her voice a tremulous whisper.

"Don't ask questions, Potter. I don't want to draw attention to this, and the officials will be back from their dinner shortly. Take your daughter and go. The quicker you blend in, the fewer questions they'll ask."

Even though the words were harsh, Hermione now knew what lay beneath them; he wasn't being cruel, he was simply protecting Lily again. Protecting all of them, really, and it was infuriating!

Why did this man have to be such an enigma? Why did there have to be lies and a breach of trust, and how was she ever supposed to understand of believe any of what he had said? How was she supposed to think that he had no more ulterior motives? And why was she so damned weak when it came to him?

Hot tears prickled her eyes, and she took a deep breath, reaching to squeeze Ginny's hand in reassurance.

"I'll be fine," she whispered.

This was true, even though Ginny looked uncertain, and her gaze flickered between Hermione and Draco with mistrust.

"I'll see you in a bit, then."

Hermione nodded, watching Lily and Ginny retreat, moving towards the door and disappearing through it. It was better she knew, that they not find out what she had done until later. The silence was oppressive, but Hermione stubbornly ignored the man in the room, sitting down once more on the plastic chair, her head turned from him, the hammering of her heart out of control. There was nothing to do now but wait for Pansy.

She shuddered.

_I did the right thing! I can deal with pain; pain isn't something foreign anymore, is it? I can do __this; I can handle whatever it is that she has planned. _

"Granger."

She twitched at the sound of her name. Tightness gripped her throat, and she had difficulty swallowing past it, and so her breathing sounded choked.

"Please, look at me."

The request was plaintive, almost passionate and Hermione fought a great battle not to do as he was asking.

_No! I won't. I won't, leave me alone!_

She heard the sound of his booted step on the hard, cold ground, and then he was standing next to her. Hermione fought against the need to reach up and hold him close, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his touch again.

"Where is Pansy?"

The question sounded strange in her ears, a sound of fear and uncertainty. Still, she would not look at him.

"She's not coming."

The lump dissolved and Hermione began to cough, leaning over the chair to catch her breath. When he reached down to touch her shoulder, she moved away, shaking her head.

"Why?" she whispered.

Then, she glanced up, and when their gazes met, she swore that time as she knew it had stopped.

"I convinced her that returning Lily was the right thing to do."

His whispered reply made no sense, and the logical part of Hermione's mind screamed at her to not believe him. His eyes captured her soul, clutching it even as she tried to fight against her flood of feelings. There was pity in those eyes, and understanding. There was uncertainty, but hope as well.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"You think one good act erases everything?" she spat incredulously.

As she stood, meaning to get away from him, he reached out, wrapping his hand around her wrist. His eyes begged her to understand.

"Just stop! Stop looking at me like that! Stop trying to make me believe something that makes no sense, Draco!"

He swallowed.

"I did for you."

"I don't care!"

Her wail echoed through the hallway and then the doors opened, letting in a small group of officials dressed in black. She only had a moment to glimpse the strange sadness in his eyes. Only a moment to realize that the words she had spoken were lies.

"Wotcher, Boss."

Those silvered eyes turned hard and cold as he looked at his comrades.

"Mulciber."

"Everything in order?"

"As usual."

Then he turned back on Hermione and she nearly wept at the distant, icy glare in his eyes now; it was as if he didn't know her.

"You're in the wrong building, Mudblood. Should I show you the door, or do you think you'll find it yourself?"

She nodded, blinking back tears. She was hurt. She was confused. She was angry. But, she wouldn't waste another moment amongst the Death Eaters. Stumbling away from the office, Hermione disappeared out the door, holding back tears until she was certain he wouldn't see. She stumbled off the single step and onto the dirt path that led to the courtyard and to the other buildings. She had kitchen duty that afternoon and being late was never an option.

Tears blurred her vision; they burned against her skin in the face of the bitter cold autumn air. It didn't matter to Hermione that her heart hurt now; it wouldn't always be that way.

_It's better this way. It was madness to believe that he and I could have-_

A Death Eater and a Mudblood? The reality settled, hard and cruel. She had become Lavender Brown.

_Oh, Lavender!_

Hermione's hands came up to cover her face, to muffle the sound of her choked sobs as she fell against one of the buildings, her body heaving with sobs.

_Outside of this room, you must remember your place…__and who I am…_

_Don't call me Draco. Call me what I am. Death Eater…_

_We can't forget…what my duty is, and what you…_

She felt too weak to even move, but Hermione forced herself to stumble across the courtyard, her head down and her hair a curtain against the rest of the world. Sobbing against her hands, she moved quickly. It was impossible, this relationship she had envisioned, and the memories, his words, reminded her of that. So, even if she loved him-

_No. No, there's no point to even think about it!_

The mess hall teemed with life. Hermione stopped, trying to catch her runaway breath. Draco's words echoed in her mind, torturing her.

_Right now, in this room, I am just Draco…_

He had been so sweet!

_You are just Hermione. There is no alienage, and there is no new Ministry. Can you do that for me?_

She _had_ done it. She had gone and fallen in love with him.

* * *

><p>Though the hallway was now filled with the murmurs of the Ministry staff, Draco felt strangely alone in the wake of Hermione's departure. For a moment, he had been able to look into those eyes again, allowing himself one, selfish indulgence. Now, he closed his eyes, trying to memorize hers, so that he could save the snapshot in the bank of his memories.<p>

He would need it later, when he was alone and miserable.

He had done it for her. Lied to Pansy, and risked his position. And she didn't care.

_I don't care!_

Her words were a mockery.

"Boss?"

"As you were, Mulciber."

Without another look at the other man, Draco headed down the hall towards the small room that was his office. Once inside, he sank down into his chair, one of his hands reaching into the depths of his robe pockets and finding the gold coin stashed there. It was the coin that Zabini had given him the last night he had been at the house in Kensington. He tapped his wand against it once, twice, and a third time. The coin glimmered, shifted and morphed fluidly, one moment being an ordinary coin and the next, tiny words forming on its surface.

A number, and then a street name.

* * *

><p><em>Wizards Equal Rights Alliance H<em>_eadquarters; central London_

Poppy's voice was warm and soothing.

"It's going to hurt a smidgen."

Blaise winced at the impending pain, turning his head away from the elderly Healer.

"Don't worry about that," he said through clenched teeth.

The room was silent; most of the members of WERA spent their time outside of the headquarters in constant preparations, meetings, investigations, planning and research. Those that remained did the cleaning, cooking and looked after the children. Poppy Pompfrey was the only Healer, and Filius was starting to get on in years, and stayed behind most days, spending much of his time dabbling in stronger and trickier protective spells and charms.

During most days, the large abandoned building that served as both meeting place and Muggle-born shelter was empty. Blaise had long ago gotten used to the way the Alliance worked. Each witch and wizard was given a task suited to their talents and abilities. Paramount was protecting those who were being hunted by the Ministry. Secondly, the planning that went into breaking out the Muggle-borns still in the alienages, and thirdly, Blaise believed that the alliance existed to foster hope and unity. At least, that's what he wanted to believe. After all, the Ministry had fostered unity, hadn't they? He believed they had aligned themselves with the wrong wizard, but still.

_Why shouldn't resistance foster unity? These people need hope more than many._

Poppy touched her wand against the wounds along his torso and upper arms and neck. The pain did come, aching and sweet, all at once. Blaise closed his eyes, groaning.

The door opened and Seamus walked in, holding Daisy.

"Oi, Finnigan, give me my baby!"

The pain seemed to ebb away, chased by Daisy's very presence. In fact, the baby girl had been the joy within the WERA headquarters since the night Padma had arrived, clutching her tightly against her chest.

Finnigan was grinning down at the baby.

"Sure, she's a wee, pretty thing, Zabini. Minerva's been sittin' with her all day, she has."

Blaise smiled, catching a glimpse of his beautiful, little girl. Seamus sank down on the frayed loveseat, and Daisy instantly crawled across the small space towards her father, who had begun to use his good hand to beckon her over.

"Come to Daddy!"

"Da!"

There was no pain, really, and no sadness so long as he was holding his little girl. And he had the WERA to thank for that, which was more than he could say for the Ministry. As Daisy settled comfortably in the crook of Blaise's good arm, he turned towards Seamus.

"Complications?"

"Where'd you be hearin' that?"

"There are always complications, I'm no fool. But I heard Thomas talking about it. How's he faring?"

"He'll be right fine. Sure, those Cockneys are tough buggers they are."

Blaise nodded.

"I heard him say we're not ready?"

"We're not. Sad to say, it is."

There was a heavy silence, broken only by Daisy's soft babbling.

"I won't push the issue, you know that. I trust you. I trust the organization and what Jordan and all of you have managed to build. We need all the help we can get. I know what it's like within the Ministry. I'm only sorry that…all this happened."

Regret colored Blaise's dark face, and he gazed down at his child. Words were no sufficient to express the disappointment he felt at knowing that his secret had managed to get Parvati Patil killed and Dean Thomas seriously hurt. Never in a million years would he have believed himself to care for either of them, but too much had changed in seven years.

"Padma will be fine, to be sure. She has purpose here. We all do."

The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then back down at the baby.

"There are just not enough of us right now, I understand."

He wanted to understand, even though his heart ached to have Lavender by his side, sitting there, holding their child.

"Have you your wand?"

Blaise nodded, taking a breath.

"I won't use it. I don't want them to track me, and Merlin knows what they're going to do to find me. It's not safe for me here, and I won't stay long. I just…"

He gazed down at his daughter, smoothing her blonde curls.

"I only wanted to make sure that she was all right, and to get bandaged up. I won't stay."

Seamus shook his head.

"You're crazy, so you are! We want you here! There's safety in numbers."

Blaise, however, couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gripped him tightly. He felt at fault for what had happened and what he was urging them to do. Yes, there was safety in numbers, but he also had a selfish desire to have his family at his side.

_Why me? The rest of them have suffered so __much, and now I feel like I'm pushing them to do this thing, just so I can try and rescue Lavender…_

But not rescuing her wasn't an option. Blaise knew he would do it himself, if he had to.

When the door on the other side of the large room opened, both men looked up to see Minerva framed there. Her face was white, and her lips were pressed together sternly.

"Mr. Zabini. There is someone here to see you. I'm afraid I was rather harsh with him, but he insists that you gave him this address?"

Her tone was icy and it held hints of fear.

"I certainly hope that is the case, because otherwise we have been seriously compromised."

She stepped aside and Blaise stood his heart stopping. It was only when he saw the man standing behind Minerva that his heart started hammering again.

"Malfoy!"

Draco swallowed, looking at Finnigan and Zabini for a moment. At first, he could think of nothing to say, although his mind raged tumultuously.

"You told me to choose a side."

His words were breathless.

"I have."

Blaise's face reflected hope, and he rushed forward, offering Draco his hand. Draco remained frozen, his eyes unfeeling.

"But we have to hurry. Lavender's on the list. I'll help you, and you'll help me."

* * *

><p><em>Two weeks later<em>

It was cold; Hermione couldn't recall the last time she had been this cold.

Shivering, she huddled into her shirt, pulling the sleeves down over her icy fingers, hoping to warm them. It wasn't much warmer within the buildings, she knew, but she had gotten used to that. At least there, she had Ginny, Justin and Lily. And some of the others, who would huddle together for warmth. Even before she reached the door to the sleeping quarters, she heard the rattled coughing and sniffling from within. And, it wasn't even winter yet.

_People are going to die._

She knew it as a certain fact, and it filled her with fear and sadness. Who would care for these people? There was medicine, but never enough to go around. There was a frazzled Healer, but he could not get to everyone.

_People are going to die._

The harshness of living within the alienage had settled upon Hermione in the days that followed the confrontation in front of Pansy's office. She had not seen the woman since, although Justin had mentioned she was there, keeping to her office most days. Though it was a good thing for most everyone there, it didn't ease Hermione's pain any. Not seeing Pansy meant life as she remembered it before Draco Malfoy. And even though she hated to admit it, she missed him. She loathed him, but she missed him. She loathed the situation, what she had allowed herself to feel, but she loved him all the same.

_Gods help me. This is for the best._

The moon was high in the cloudless sky and Hermione lifted her face up towards it, gazing for a moment as she stood in place, shivering violently.

_I should get inside._

* * *

><p>Draco knew now that he was working with the WERA, that being within the alienage was going to be more difficult. Making sure that no others were the better at the silent decision he had made would be a challenge. He no longer fraternized in the mess hall with the other officials, never said more than he had to, and nothing beyond the usual daily instructions.<p>

He avoided Marcus Flint, who had begun to give him strange, calculating looks, and even more so, he avoided Pansy Parkinson.

He had put in the transfer request for Hermione Granger; Theo Nott, who had taken over Zabini's position rather quickly, had agreed to the transfer. And he avoided meetings with Bellatrix and some of the higher ranking officers within the Ministry.

He kept to himself.

He thought of Hermione.

He thought of what was going to happen, and what they would lose if they failed. But there was no more time, for Lavender, unbeknownst, had finally been put on Flint's list. She would die, if they did not act now.

_Gods help us all._

Still, late at night, after all the others but the overnight officials had gone home, Draco would stay.

No one knew he was there, for he kept to the shadows. He knew it was pathetic, more than pathetic, but something in him would not rest unless she was with him. Most nights he had no reason to be where he was, no reason to watch her excepting to make sure she was all right. Only then, he would go to the flat that he had rented nearby. For weeks now he had begun to avoid his wife's owls and messages, because Draco could not handle the betrayal well, and now that he had chosen a side, he could not see Astoria, for fear of what might happen.

He had bedazzled the flat, making sure that no one knew where it was but Zabini and a few of the others within the Alliance.

Tonight, however, he could not leave. Tonight, he had a purpose.

Stepping out of the shadows, he caught Hermione before she slipped into the sleeping quarters, his gloved fingers enveloping her small, cold hand.

"Granger."

Hermione stared up at him, something flickering in her eyes, a burning heat, that light which burned like they were enchanted with Gubraithian fire. In spite of the cold, her gaze seemed to melt him.

"Let me go."

Her voice was strangled, and he couldn't see her face in the darkness.

"This isn't right, Draco. This thing between us. You know it! I know it! I've never forgotten, you know. What you told me the first time we were together, that I must never forget what you are and who I am!"

The moonlight revealed the glittering tears that clung to her eyelashes.

"Please, just let me go."

Her whisper was a plea and it tore at his heart.

"I know what I am, Hermione."

"Then why are you doing this? I was nothing more to you than a whore. I know you think…you feel something, but don't you see how impossible this is?"

She gazed helplessly up at him, his face whiter against the black of his coat and the light of the moon. She no longer feared him or his motivations. She only feared herself and what she was feeling.

"It can't be."

"And you can't say that you feel nothing!"

"I feel nothing that could help!"

His eyes searched her, the leather of his gloves smooth against her tear-stained face.

Draco knew he had little time. He leaned down, breathing her in for a moment, his lips against her ear.

"I love you, Hermione. Hold onto that, and learn to trust it."

She shuddered at his words.

"They are coming. Tell Justin. Tell him now, tell him to be ready. You'll be free soon. I promise. Even if it means my life."

She choked on her next breath, her eyes widening in shock. Her heart began to gallop at his words, and her hands grew even colder, her body frozen.

"Go, Hermione. Go and tell him. They are coming."

Without another word, he turned the shadows and darkness claiming him as their own. Hermione only hesitated for a split second before turning and rushing into the building ahead of her.


	36. Chapter 36

_Yay for the reviews, alerts and favorites! You guys keep me motivated – you have no idea. In my original notes, __this was the halfway point in the story. So…if you haven't, drop me a comment. I love them, and if you're reading this far, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Warning – this next arch of chapters are darker than the rest of this story, starting with character death in this chapter. I hate dwelling on death, but this is one of those parts of the story that I had envisioned from the genesis, and therefore, it will remain as originally planned. You have been warned. I made it slightly longer, as I'm not sure how quickly I'll be updating._

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX<p>

* * *

><p>Justin ran a hand through his unruly curls. His face had lost all color at Hermione's whispered announcement.<p>

"And how do you know this is true?"

"Malfoy told me."

"Hermione-"

Her brown eyes shone with certainty.

"No, Justin. You can't question it. I trust him; I trust him with my life."

The curly-haired man nodded, but said nothing, and Hermione felt pained at the fear written in his eyes.

"Do you know…what to do?"

She whispered the words, praying that no one overhear. She could only imagine what would await them both if such were the case.

"I do."

He glanced at her, taking a huge breath, and letting it out. It sounded choked.

"Seamus, you know. Before they caught me and brought me here, I knew what to do. I wanted to help, I've wanted to help for months, and I can't believe…"

His fervent whisper faded into the low hum of noise in the room, as his eyes wandered to the windows and the darkness beyond. He was only glad that Hermione could not hear his thoughts, the fear that filled him, and that she couldn't tell how fast his heart was hammering now.

Her face pale, she gave him a gentle push.

"He told me nothing. But if you know, you should go. Go now. Go quickly."

Justin nodded, and then bit his lip.

"Hermione?"

She turned her eyes up towards him and he leaned in, kissing her cheek.

"Take care of yourself, you hear? You know I love you like a sister."

Hermione's eyes widened as she leaned up to hug Justin.

"Don't go all soft on me," she said, offering a small smile though it did nothing to relieve the tension between them.

Hermione felt terribly on edge, all her senses heightened, her body pulled back on an invisible sling, ready to shoot forward at a moment's notice.

_They're coming…_

She knew who they were, there was no mystery. She knew the purpose of the Alliance, had listened to enough of Justin's whispered stories over the last few months to know that what was coming could be good. It could be good for her, Justin, Lavender, Ginny…for all those who were here, stuck and oppressed, cold, hungry and dying.

At the same time, Hermione had trouble forgetting Marcus Flint and the day in the row houses with the Dementors and the dozens whom he had forced her to torture.

_That doesn't mean it has to happen again!_

She held Justin tightly.

"And you take care of yourself, too."

Justin pulled away.

"Tell Ginny and everyone else. Lavender will want to know," he said his eyes straying towards the corner where he could see her in the shadows.

Hermione nodded nervously.

Justin took another breath.

"Tell them to meet me near the fencing behind the row buildings."

Hermione's blood ran cold at just the mention of the place, but she swallowed and nodded, her eyes never leaving Justin's pale face.

"It's hard to see behind the building, but they're going to try to slip as many people out as they can, while some of the others will distract the Ministry, if possible. We won't have much time."

Hermione was stoic.

"I understand."

They both looked towards the darkness outside, and then Hermione glanced back at Lavender, after which she gazed at Justin one last time. He hesitated, opening his mouth, and then stopped. She waited, and then finally, he spoke again.

"Hermione, please…when you get the chance, take it."

"What are you-?"

"I know you," he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her shoulder. "I've seen how you are here; I've seen how you take care of the others, and the children. But tonight, it's not just about them. It's about you, too. Run when you get the chance."

She couldn't say anything, feeling a sudden wave of emotion washing over her, drowning her in uncertainty and cold, hard terror. Justin's eyes lingered on her for a moment, and then her friend was gone, rushing from the door and fading into the darkness. She watched him, her eyes wide, as he was swallowed into nothingness.

She wondered what was waiting for him, but knew there was no time to think. Now was the time to act.

She prayed, hoping there was a God.

* * *

><p>Marcus watched Pansy as she leaned over her desk, writing something with quick, hard strokes, holding the pen in such a tight grip her knuckles had whitened.<p>

"I know something's dodgy with him, Pans."

The dark-haired woman said nothing, and hardly stirred. The only sound and movement was the scratching of pen against parchment.

"Something's been different for weeks now, it has."

Still nothing, though a sigh escaped her.

"Pansy."

Finally, she slammed the pen against the wooden desk. She glanced up, her eyes nearly black within a face that was much too white.

"Stop it, Marcus!"

"What?"

"I'm not interested in your paranoid codswallop!"

He stared at her, his bushy brow furrowing.

"You'd think after the rejection you got-"

Her eyes flashed hatefully.

"I'd love to know how you're so easily able to assume I was rejected, you pretentious wanker!"

He blinked stupidly and Pansy was reminded once again how much she loathed him.

_Then why have I been bedding him all these months?_

She hated her life, hated where she was, what she was doing. And why she was he way she was. The oaf that called himself a man stared at her, his eyes snapping vehemently. He was disgusting and filthy, and he was as ugly inside as he was on the outside. He cared nothing for those around him, wallowing only in his own self-pleasures and desires. And she _loathed _him. She slept with him, confided in him, spent time with him, yet she _loathed_ him.

"You're right. I shouldn't suppose, but then again if he hadn't rejected you, wouldn't you be with him?"

The comment was spoken casually, but Pansy knew Marcus well enough to know what lay beneath that tone; he meant to hurt and humiliate her, to remind her just how alone she truly was. Grinding her teeth, Pansy barely got the words out.

"My life, Flint, and my choices, are none of your business. Piss off."

"Feisty tonight, aren't you? I remember nights when you were like this, and you invited me home."

Pansy felt a swirling of nausea, which threatened the dinner she had eaten only hours before. She swallowed the thickness, closing her eyes.

"Luckily, that won't be happening ever again," she spat, sickened at her own behavior; sickened by everything she had done in her past. In spite of the shame, she knew she was weak, and that-

"You'll be back."

His look was one of appraisal, his tone lewd.

"When the itch strikes."

Pansy stood, making a face.

"I'm done with this."

There was a silence. Outside, there was a rattling as the wind howled through the eaves of the building, the sound making Pansy shiver. She looked to the window, at the darkness beyond and wondered at what was rattling her so deeply.

She turned, wanting to get away from Marcus.

"Get out," she muttered. "I have to finish my paperwork, and then I'm calling it a night."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

She pulled out her wand, aiming it at his heart.

"Think about that one again."

"Stupid bitch."

Pansy hardly even cared about the name calling; she had long ago stopped caring what Marcus thought of her. He had just been a distraction from the rest of her miserable existence. She had turned around, facing away from him and towards the window, and waited for him to leave. Then, only after the door shut behind him, did Pansy turn. She sat down at her desk once more, but her eyes kept straying to the window. Even though she knew there was nothing outside now but the cold and wind, something was not right. Something was not right at all.

She wondered if God had long ago abandoned her. After all the things she had done and not done, who would forgive her? Who would watch over her? She was alone.

* * *

><p>It was late, but Hermione knew that no one was sleeping. She, too, couldn't sleep. She was waiting; waiting and wondering where Draco was.<p>

_If they come, will I see him again? Will he go with us?_

She was terrified, and curling into her blanket did nothing to ease her fear or the icy cold that permeated every one of her senses. Justin hadn't come back to the sleeping quarters, though Hermione and Ginny had waited long past midnight, Just in case.

Then, there was nothing to do but wait.

_God help us, if You hear me._

* * *

><p>Justin waited on the outskirts of the alienage, facing towards the row buildings. It was cold, both from the weather and the presence of the Dementors which were housed inside the building. The wind had picked up, howling between the buildings and through the trees that lined the premises. He wasn't sure what time it was – what time it had been when Hermione had come to him. But, he knew it had been hours. Some of that time, he had spent doubting what Hermione had said, but most of it he had spent in silence, waiting for the sign.<p>

Would it be Malfoy?

Justin thought of Blaise and wondered if Malfoy had been in with Blaise all along. It was possible, because at least, Malfoy had shown compassion.

_He tried to save my baby._

Nothing had come of it, but-

_At least he__ tried, and that is more than I can say for any of these other Ministry officials._

He stared towards the darkened horizon, dotted by the trees that were dancing in the wind.

_Hermione trusts him._

Justin had seen it in her eyes; Hermione cared about Malfoy, and how that had happened, he would never know. It was a hard, cruel world, indeed. Perhaps caring was embraced when one could find it.

_What now? Where are they? _

His heart began to pound in nervousness as all the possibilities ran through his mind, both good and bad. He knew he had to stop, to focus on what was coming, but he was having trouble.

_Stop. You have to stop. You have to stop thinking about what might-_

There was a sound from his left, and Justin turned, startled.

"Stop," the voice hissed. "It's just me."

From the shadows, Malfoy stepped into the faint moonlight, his hair white, making him look like some sort of night creature, like the vampires that Justin remembered from movies he watched when he had been a child. Malfoy stood, the wind causing his long cloak to billow. He was nearly swallowed by the shadows that surrounded them.

"We'll need something to distract the Ministry when they realize what is happening."

Malfoy's words were cold.

"We won't have much time once they figure out what we've done."

He turned to look towards the darkness beyond, lit up only by the lights in the main offices and the light of the moon.

_Hermione, where are you?_

His heart rattled within his chest, making his teeth chatter. He couldn't remember being this afraid for someone. For anyone, really.

_Scorp-_

Didn't count, his son didn't count. He had already been dead.

Shuddering, he turned back towards the Muggle-born who was standing there, watching him in trepidation.

"You'll have to do it near the offices, do you understand? They'll call for reinforcements once they see what is going on, but you need to buy us some time. Enough to get…as many out as we can. We can't get them all, I know that. It's unrealistic to believe we will. But-"

Once more, he turned towards the sleeping quarters.

_I'll get her myself,_ he thought with increasing panic. _I can't be unless I know she's…that she'll be all right._

Would he have the time?

_I'll find it. By Gods, I'll find it!_

"I'll be watching for them, but they'll come this way," he said pointing towards the grove of trees in the distance.

Justin nodded over and over again, rubbing his hands up and down the trousers that did nothing to keep him warm, his fingers trembling from cold and nervousness. As Malfoy was once more swallowed up by the looming night shadows, he fumbled into the pocket of the worn trousers, finding the box of matches, just as another gust of wind picked up. Moving slowly, almost mechanically, Justin clutched the matches tightly, heading towards the Ministry field offices across the courtyard. He was alone; on this night, no one was about. He wondered if eyes were watching him as he walked. He wondered how many of them were people like him, the oppressed, hoping and waiting for freedom.

_Or the Ministry. The Ministry might already be watching me. God help us all._

Swallowing hard, trembling fingers passed one match from hand to hand, hesitating for a moment before striking it against the side of the box, just as he remembered doing as a child.

Justin found it funny how it had been years since he had used a match; magic had made it obsolete. Magic had made much obsolete, he realized in that strange, icy moment. Magic had changed his life as Muggle-born. Never had he imagined that he'd have the power he did today, and even more than that, he had never imagined losing that right, the way he had learned to live, all the years he had put into his studies. He had never imagined losing his family, both his parents, his wife, his daughter.

Justin's eyes traveled to the star-studded heavens, and he wondered with a sigh why oppression existed, why bigotry and prejudice was allowed to eat away and destroy everything good.

He wondered if there was a God.

He struck the match, the sound of scratching against the box giving him a sense of power, of control. In the dead of night, the match flared, a tiny spark of light bringing with it the tiniest bit of hope.

_Maybe I won't be all right. Maybe I will be. But even if I'm not, I've done this to help others, to make sure that they're going to be all right._

The match flickered, burned slowly, blackening as it went down, and nearly burning Justin's fingers before he dropped it onto the ground, stepping on it. He took another match, and watched as it, too, burned down to his fingertips before blowing it out. He waited; he waited until Malfoy gave the signal, and then he moved swiftly to the shed that stood nearest the Ministry offices, and dropped a match on it, closing his eyes. At first, there was only darkness behind his eyelids, but presently he began to feel heat, and see a faint glow. When Justin opened his eyes, the shed was ablaze, burning a hot, bright orange.

Now. Now, he knew was the time. Stumbling backwards, he moved just as another gust of wind picked up, sending the flames higher, burning brighter than he had thought possible with just one match.

_Merlin's beard, the wind!_

Whether or not Malfoy had meant for it to happen, the fire jumped, moved, morphed, and spread. Ashes and sparks exploded against the offices, bouncing off the hard, tin roof, but suddenly catching on the wood that had dried since the last rain, at first small, but then spreading, burning along the side.

"HELP!"

His cry echoed across the courtyard, and then, they were coming. He saw Marcus Flint rushing from the building, his face harsh and lined in the firelight.

"HELP!"

* * *

><p>They came in droves, Blaise in the lead, moving slowly in the dead of night. They wore black, and they were concealed both by the shadows and by the bedazzlement charms and spells cast on them. They made no noise, spoke no word but what was necessary. Those who had them held wands, and those who did not, would help with those escaping. They continued to move until Blaise stopped.<p>

"Look," he whispered, pointing towards the sky.

There, lighting up the darkness was the flicker of light; the flicker of fire.

"We don't have much time. That's our sign!"

No one wasted time, and they moved through the trees, running faster now, dashing to the fences along the back, where Malfoy told them he would be. As they neared the alienage, they could see that the fire was spreading, burning brightly from one corner, but the wind carrying the sparks and making the fire jump gloriously, as if it were doing a beautiful, yet uncontrollable dance.

"Hurry!"

Blaise reminded them of their purpose, and once they reached the fencing, it was Dean, using his good arm that lifted his wand.

"Confringo!"

The fencing exploded all around them, and WERA entered the alienage on the other side of where the fire had monopolized the attention of the Ministry.

"Wait here," stated Kingsley as he stood higher than the rest, watching the growing fire.

"That's a beauty, that is," whispered Seamus.

The others entered the space behind the buildings, lining up along the walls of the brick rows, out of sight and still swathed by shadows.

"HELP!"

Once more, Justin's cries floated on the cold, windy night.

"I'm getting the others," said a whispered voice from the other side of the fencing. "I know where they sleep, and I know the layout. I'll need help."

It was Malfoy, and as he moved to leave, Kingsley and Seamus, and several more stepped up and nodded.

"We'll help."

Kingsley's voice on the wind.

Blaise watched as the tall, black man led some of the others after Malfoy, and hoped against hope that they would help more than they would harm.

He wished there was a God.

Then, he followed them, moving into the alienage.

* * *

><p>Hermione was the first to jump at Justin's cries for help, and she ran to the window, suddenly aware of the strange, orange glow coming through the windows of the room.<p>

"Ginny, Lily…come," she whispered, pulling the woman and child with her.

They moved through the cots, and pushed by people in the room who were already clambering towards the door, heeding Hermione's earlier whispered words of hope.

They were going to be safe! They were going to freedom! All they had to do is _move._

As the Muggle-borns moved from the building, Hermione could see the Ministry officials were preoccupied by the growing fire around them, and she had to admit that it was frighteningly huge now, the wind carrying it, stoking it, making it burn dangerously higher. For a moment she imagined the whole alienage coming down in flames around them, burning to the ground, destroying all the pain here, all the evil that went on, sparing none of the Ministry, none of those horrid, heartless-

"'Mione, we have to go. Come on!"

Ginny pulled on her hand, and with a strange feeling in her belly, Hermione went, moving with the trickle of people heading for their freedom.

The courtyard had exploded into a cacophony of life; everyone was moving from side to side, some were crying, some were trying to go where Hermione had told them to go. As those people were swallowed by the shadows, she said a prayer, hoping that the Alliance was waiting for them, that what Draco had told her was true. It had to be.

Then, as if he was an answered prayer, she saw Kingsley rushing people into the shadows, and saw Seamus holding two children, following Kingsley. They were there! Her eyes filled with tears of relief, and it was the knowledge that they weren't alone in this that kept her moving. She only wished she could speak a word to them; give them encouragement, to touch them. But, she knew she couldn't.

Glancing around, Hermione searched for another, important face.

_Draco, where are you?_

She knew she had very little time to find him, and though the courtyard blazed with light, for now the laundry rooms had also caught fire, she couldn't see anything through the panicked crowds and the smoke. She could see that Marcus Flint had called in help; Ministry officials were apparating in all corners of the alienage, rushing towards the burning buildings. She saw Justin dashing away from the Ministry, helping a younger girl to run forward, and then moving back to the laundry rooms, in search of others to help.

Still, she searched for Draco, but she didn't see him, and her heart began to constrict with fear.

_There's no time! Soon, they'll know__ we are escaping! _

Already, some of them were casting charms to counter the fire.

"Hermione!"

She whirled around to see Lavender standing halfway down the courtyard, her hand outstretched. Her blonde curls hung a mess around her face, looking like the most beautiful spun gold in the light of the glowing fire.

"You have to hurry! We don't have much time!"

Standing next to her, was Blaise Zabini, his hand clasped tightly around Lavender, his face a mask of determination. At last, they were together, and Hermione couldn't think of a more perfect sight. But at the same time, it made her heart cry out for Draco.

Hermione froze solid amongst the world around her, which was hurtling towards chaos.

"Hermione!"

Lavender voice was pleading, and tears glittered in her eyes.

Hermione wondered where the compassion was coming from; Lavender had shown her none from the start. Perhaps it was fear; perhaps it was the knowledge that they could all get away, get to freedom. Or perhaps it was the fact that she was reunited with the man she had cried over for months. Love did crazy things, after all.

Hermione paused, looking around again, her heart pounding with adrenaline and fear now, she was burning with it.

_Draco, where is Draco?_

She didn't dare call out his name, bring attention to him or to herself, because – bloody hell – in the real world they had no reason to know each other, to love each other.

_But I do, Oh, Draco, I love you!_

Ginny had paused by Lavender, her red hair gloriously burning around her pale face as she clutched Lily to her chest.

"'Mione, come on!"

Hermione stumbled towards Ginny.

"What about Justin?"

Her voice was breathless, and tears streamed down her face. Tears for Draco. Tears of fear that she wouldn't see him again. Helplessly, she whirled around again, praying that she saw him in the mess on the courtyard.

But, no, he wasn't there.

_Please, let there be a God!__ Let Him keep Draco safe!_

* * *

><p>Draco dashed across the courtyard, moving, shoving past the Muggle-borns rushing towards the row buildings without looking back, running for their lives, for their very freedom. He could almost sense their panic; he could sense their desperation. And he couldn't blame them. They had spent too long in this place, spent too much time being abused, alone, hungry, tired and sick. He would have run, too. As each of them passed him by, he could only hope that he would see her face, but since the fire had begun to grow to dangerous proportions, he had not spotted her. It didn't help that the fire was spewing smoke, and the wind was carrying it quickly, making the air difficult to breathe and his vision to blur as it burned his eyes.<p>

_If she gets away, I'll be fine. If she gets away, and I know she's safe, I'll be fine._

He repeated this mantra with each, ragged heartbeat. He knew that her safety was paramount, but the selfish part of him wanted to see her again. Ignoring the life around him, the cries and the confusion – for the fire was now out of control – he searched for her. On the other side of the courtyard, he could see the Ministry offices aflame, and the laundry facilities burning as well.

_The wind; the wind is out of control!_

Just then, he spotted Potter, clutching her child. And he knew-

_Hermione!_

Before he could make her out in the glowing, hazy confusion, he heard a strange sound behind him and turned. The laundry building seemed to glow with a fierce white light, and he heard the sound after the explosion; it rocked the night with sound and caused the others around him to cry out in fear. The force of the impact sent the people around the building into the air, some catching fire and some falling limp to the ground.

All of them were dead.

That was when he heard Hermione's voice – her _scream_ – and Draco turned to see her racing towards the burning structure, sobbing.

"Justin!"

Finch-Fletchley was dead.

Draco broke into a run after her.

"Hermione!" he choked out, reaching her just as she fell onto the icy, cold ground, holding his body against her own.

The explosion had destroyed whatever Justin had been; and he was lifeless, burned completely. As the Ministry tried once again to contain the conflagration, he saw Potter and Lavender rushing towards them.

"Go!" he exclaimed, tersely. "Don't you know this is your only way?"

His eyes were like glittering jewels and devoid of any emotion as he glared at Lavender.

"Go, Blaise is waiting for you. This was for you, you still bint! Don't stand there! Don't waste time!"

Lavender couldn't move.

Ginny hesitated, tears rolling down her face for Justin, and for those others who were surely going to pay if they didn't make it to their escape. But she couldn't just leave Hermione!

"Go, Potter!"

Ginny ignored his panicked insistence, instead, dropping to her knees next to her friend, pulling her close.

"Hermione!"

"There is NO GOD!"

Hermione was rocking Justin's body, unable to do anything but wail. There was nothing to say, to reassure Ginny, to make it better. Justin was dead. Sweet, wonderful Justin who had died alone and so painfully. It was like those last few moments with Ron, the way the fire had swallowed up everything around them, how the building had exploded, how the Death Eaters had found them.

Even Ginny's voice was the same, begging her to come, to leave him.

"'Mione, we have to go! He's dead, we have to go!"

_Those same words again! _

"Justin," she whispered, tears making streaks along her sooty face.

"He's dead," Ginny whispered, pain evident in her voice, as she leaned to kiss Hermione's forehead.

Hermione leaned into Ginny, and felt as Lavender struggled to pull her to her feet. She heard Ginny's soothing voice, felt them pushing her along, saw and felt the blazing fire around them, heard the sounds of people around her, but everything seemed to move in a haze. It was as if she was watching her life, and not actually _living _it. She turned to see Justin's body one last time, and she wept once more, her body weak with crying.

In the haze of smoke and heat, she could hear Draco's voice, too. And, she wanted to hold him, but couldn't. She wanted to love him, but couldn't. She wanted to die, but God wouldn't allow it.

There was no God, Hermione realized.

_Stay with me, Draco!_

But she couldn't say anything, her voice choked with tears and panic. He was talking to Ginny, terrible, awful words that terrified Hermione.

_Take her, keep her safe. Get her out of here…go now…__I'll go distract the others…_

The air was cooler now, easier to breathe, and she was moving into the shadows, the fire flickering to her back now, her vision blurred from tears of loss and fear. She was being dragged like a rag doll, but her heart was with the man who had just dashed back towards the burning buildings.

_It doesn't feel right! This is wrong! I can't!_

She stopped, and Ginny turned, brushing hair from Hermione's shoulder.

"We're going to be safe," she whispered, and Lily clutched her mother tighter.

Lavender looked pale in the moonlight.

"Isn't that what you've wanted, Hermione? Isn't it what we've always wanted? We only have a few more moments and we can be free!"

It was right for them, Hermione knew. It was right for Ginny and Lavender, because they had other things to live for, others to take care of.

She turned, to see the fire burning bright, but at the forefront, she saw _him._ Standing off to the side, by his lonesome, black against the flames behind him. She could almost hear his voice again, feel his touch.

_I searched for him, and all for what? How can I leave him now? _

She began to sob, the tears choking her, making her cough, and Hermione pulled away from the two women who held her arms. No, she had to stay. If he was staying, she would have to stay.

"Hermione…"

Ginny's voice was trembling, growing more fearful.

Hermione turned.

"I can't go," she whispered in reply, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "I have to stay."

"What?"

"I love him."

No one had to ask who 'he' was. They knew, Hermione wondered how long they had known. She closed her eyes for a moment.

"I can't leave if he's not with me."

Ginny's sobs wracked her body and she reached over to hold Hermione tightly.

"If you don't come…I don't know if I'll see you again…please, Hermione, please…"

Lavender shook her head.

"Let her go. She won't know peace in this life if she's not with him."

Hermione swallowed, wiping Ginny's face, and kissing Lily's head. She felt a kinship with Lavender she had never thought would be possible. Because Lavender understood where Hermione was, and what she was feeling.

'Thank you,' she mouthed, before turning back to offer Ginny a trembling smile.

"You never belonged here, Gin. You were never meant to be here with me, and I'll love you forever for everything you've done, but I can't go."

Her heart was being pulled in Draco's direction.

"Don't waste time. Be safe."

Her eyes flickered from Ginny and Lily to Lavender.

"All of you. Take care of yourselves."

Hermione felt herself hugging Ginny and Lily, trying to memorize the feel of hugging them, so she could remember later, just in case. Lavender didn't wait, rushing away, towards the shadows and her freedom. She never once turned, leaving the two women and the child alone.

Ginny, tears of disbelief streaming down her cheeks, would not let go of her hand.

"You can't do this. Whatever is between you, it…in this world, Hermione, I don't know…"

"I know," Hermione whispered. "I'm only doing what I have to do."

She pushed them, choking back more tears, willing herself to stop crying. She didn't want the last moment between herself and Ginny to be one of tears.

"Go. Hurry, I want to know you've escaped."

Ginny swiped at her eyes, but the tears didn't stop. Behind them, the fire was being contained, and more ran past them, towards their freedom.

"I love you, Ginny. I love you both."

"We love you, too."

Hermione clung to them for another moment, kissing Lily and then she let them go, covering her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping. She watched until Ginny was gone and she could no longer tell the difference between her form and the shadows. Then, she turned to run after Draco, knowing that she needed to be with him, no matter what. As she neared him, she saw his face pale at the realization that she hadn't escaped. But in spite of his expression, Hermione felt her heart melting. Without another thought, she wrapped her arms around him, taking a moment to take a breath. He smelled of wind and ash, from the smoke around them.

"What are you doing?" he growled from behind his clenched teeth, pulling her away roughly, searching her eyes. "Get out of here, Granger! Get out before they-"

"THEY'RE ESCAPING!"

It was Marcus' cry that cut through the yells and coughing of those still trying to get away, to run from the Ministry. Soon the orange light around them was studded with green flashes, as the Death Eaters began to send killing curses through the air. With a cry of anger, Draco yanked Hermione forward and dashed around the side of the sleeping quarters, before he shoved her against the wall.

"What are you thinking?" he hissed, his eyes wide with fear. "This was your chance! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN FREE!"

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes bellying his panic.

"I know. But, I wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"I do."

Draco's pale face flickered with confusion, searching her weary face. Her beauty was heart-stopping.

"What are you getting on about, you mad woman?"

"I do," she repeated, reaching to cup his face in between her dirty, bloodied hands.

"You asked that night if I loved you. And I do. I love you. I should have just told you then, because I think I knew."

Tears suddenly struck him, and Hermione thought they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"You choose to tell me now?"

His whisper was ragged, but his fingers stroked along the softness of her cheek with tenderness. And though it seemed impossible, his lips trembled up into a smile. His heart was beating wildly and the moment seemed so surreal, so outside of the hell that had broken loose in the alienage, that he almost believed he had died. And gone to somewhere with Hermione, which could only be heaven.

"I wanted to tell you, in case I didn't get another chance. Death comes so swiftly."

He was crying.

"You could have been safe, Hermione."

He pulled her close, away from the building and into the safest place he could think of; the circle of his arms, into which she melted easily, her breath against his neck.

"I'd rather die with you than be safe without you. I let Ron die, but I won't do the same thing again. I'm going to stay, unless you go. If you go, I go, Draco."

Pulling away she leaned up to close the distance between them and take his mouth in a kiss she had only imagined for weeks. She felt a completion that she had never known in that horrific moment. Come what may, she was in his arms now, and nothing was going to shake her from him. She reached up, stroking the lines of his face, brushing the dirt from his skin with the most tender of touches, wanting to lose herself completely in his face, in the way he was smiling at her, and the way his eyes shone with the feelings in her heart.

"I love you," she sighed.

"And I, you."

He kissed her again, and she tasted his tears, bitter and yet sweet all at once.

"Then, come with me, Draco. I'll go anywhere, as long as I know you're with me."

"We can't now," he said with regret.

If only they had more time, if only there was just another minute! Being with her, even if he never knew home again or never felt like he would stop running, seemed like paradise compared to the life he had been leading for seven years.

Hermione bit her lip.

"They're running after everyone else, towards the back, right? Can't we just make a run for it? Through the front, where you've always met me?" she asked, pointing towards the other side of the building, away from the fire.

"I'm afraid."

She smiled at his honesty, lacing her fingers through his.

"So am I. What's the worst that can happen?" she asked in a whisper. "If we die, it's together."

And, he realized, it was true. If he was going to die, it would be at her side, and that was just fine.

"Let's go," he agreed without another thought. They moved through the shadows, along the side of the building, hands clasped and hearts hammering.

For a moment, all was perfect, and Hermione knew she had made the right choice. She was by his side, and she wouldn't leave him, no matter what was to come. They dashed into the courtyard, Draco making a beeline for the wooden pillars near the exit. They were running so fast, they never heard Flint cast the curse, a red light issuing from his wand and sailing through the smoke and fire.

Draco and Hermione fell, knowing only darkness.

To those who would escape that night, there was a God. But to those who had fallen, there was nothing.

_A/N: no, they're not dead, guys! By the way, I wrote some of this to In Reverence by David Tolk. The loveliest song ever.  
><em>


	37. Chapter 37

_I'm back! Lots going on – a few other projects, plus I'm working on renovating my kitchen (which I'm doing myself, with some help). Thanks so much for all your support, and for the new reviewers and the old – thank you! Here's more. This was impossible to write – I had to walk away a few times and come back. At H&V, this chapter receives a Yew warning – it will be disturbing to some readers, I think. Can__'t give it away in the author's notes, but just be warned – there is sensitive subject material in this chapter. See you next week!  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>Draco awoke to pain; it was the first thing he was aware of. The pain paralyzed him, for any movement, no matter how slight, caused him to wince and his stomach to roil with nausea. In the end, the only thing he could do was open his eyes, and he did.<p>

He was in one of the interrogation rooms at the alienage; he knew from the strange, ribbed design in the plaster ceiling. All the offices had the same design. And, as he took a breath, he detected the faint scent of smoke in the air. The fire, he realized. By now, however, it was most likely put out.

_How long have I been unconscious?_

At that thought, the rest of the night flooded back to him like some impossible, terrible nightmare. He shuddered, and it sent strange painful ripples through his body.

_Hermione! Where is Hermione! Let her be all right! _

Wetness gathered at the corner of Draco's eyes and ran down the sides of his face in heavy, large tears, and he groaned. The sound caused movement to his left, and then he saw Pansy's pale, scared face.

"You're awake."

Her voice was a strangled whisper, and when he opened his mouth to reply, his voice was gone, as if destroyed by the entire ordeal. The fear of the possibility that Hermione was injured or worse made it impossible for him to say anything, only to stare helplessly as Pansy reached for his hand.

"They think you're responsible."

Her jaw was trembling in her efforts to hold onto the strength she always had.

"We lost a dozen of our own, and over half escaped the alienage. Draco, what did you do?"

He turned his head, staring up at her for a moment, not sure of what to say. He only cared about one thing, and that was to find out what happened to Hermione.

"Are…everyone is dead?"

Pansy let out a soft snort, her face a mask of sadness.

"Not everyone, but you and I are responsible for this. It's my job, Draco. They'll be asking questions, and they found you with that Mudblood, so they'll want to know about that, too."

Draco gulped back the leaden feeling that slammed his very core, trying not to outwardly show what was raging within him. Closing his eyes against the onslaught, he took a breath.

He inhaled.

_She has to be all right._

He exhaled.

_There's no way any benevolent God would allow her death. Not sweet, wonderful Hermione. Not after everything else she's been through._

He inhaled.

_Maybe death would be a blessing. After all, I've brought her nothing but pain._

He exhaled.

_But, I love her! If not her, I don't want to live.__ If she is dead, there's nothing for me any longer._

Draco opened his eyes, his heart beating steadily once again.

"Granger? Did they kill her?"

He expected as such, and prepared himself for Pansy's answer, his heart stopping for those few, silent seconds which seemed like a thousand lifetimes. As he gazed up at Pansy, he knew she was analyzing him, considering each movement, the flicker of his eyes, the way he was breathing.

Finally she spoke, her tone muted.

"No. They aren't finished with her. Flint is in the other room; I gave him the orders to question her, using whatever means necessary."

Though he knew he would pay dearly, Draco sat up in one, dizzying movement, the pain in his head exploding along the rest of his battered body, but his eyes glinting hard as the bore into Pansy's.

"It wasn't her," he spat. "It was Finch-Fletchley. That's what I was doing when they stupefied me. Going after that git. He was already dead."

The lies fell from his lips, as they had in past months, as they had throughout his childhood and his years at Hogwarts. He was a glorious liar; a silver-mouthed snake who could make anyone buy anything he wanted them to. This time, however it was not just about that; this time it was about Hermione's life, his very well-being, because he would not lose her. Not when he had already lost his son. Not when she was the only person he loved in the whole, miserable world.

Pansy blinked, clearly taken aback by his statement.

"You don't get off on this torture thing, Pans," he said softly, hoping to charm her into relenting, into making Flint stop.

"I'll do what I have to, when it comes to my job."

Her hiss melted into the sudden, terrified screams coming from down the hall, and Draco had to steel himself from leaping off the table and running out of the room. Those were Hermione's screams; after all this time, he knew; he could recognize them without even thinking.

"It's sickening. Have you ever seen me touch one of them? They're…it's not like they're…"

Human, he wanted to say. They were human, just like she was; just like all of them were. They breathed, the cried, they loved, they hungered…

"I'm going to go in there and stop this madness! I told you who it was!"

Pansy's jaw was set, her eyes glittering in his direction.

"A dead man can't pay for what happened!"

Her exclamation rang through the room.

"I ordered her tortured so she could learn a lesson! You can't truly believe that she had nothing to do with this, Draco! Potter and that child are gone! All of those whom she was close to here are gone!"

Draco's head was pounding something painfully fierce, and he groaned, clutching at it, his vision blurring.

"I need a Healer."

"I know," she replied sternly. "I'd advise you to stay seated. Flint beat you good."

Draco flexed his fingers, his toes, and his body ached in response, his head whirling in the most uncomfortable fashion.

_Bloody hell, it's like I took on the role of human punching bag. _

"Wanker hates me," he muttered closing his eyes against the vertigo. Pansy said nothing, but when he opened his eyes a crack, she wore a visage of regret.

"He…the worst thing I ever did was get involved with him," she whispered then. "I don't know what I was doing. I still don't know what I'm doing, except that now, with this, Draco, I have to. I can't…let this go. We lost supplies, we lost property and we lost people. The Ministry's going to come down on this, and I'm to blame."

Draco saw the tears of fear shimmering in the depths of her eyes, but he was too worried about Hermione to muster much sympathy for a woman who was as twisted as she was lost. In some ways, he didn't blame her. And in other ways he wanted to grab her by the neck and to hold tight, choking her until she stopped breathing and passed away.

He turned his head away from her, allowing a few tears to escape.

"I need your help."

She said nothing.

"We have to go stop him. He can't kill someone else and those screams-"

His ragged, pain-filled words were cut off by another scream of lamentation. It rang in Draco's ears, rattling him so thoroughly he nearly let out a whimper.

_I let it go, so many years ago! I can't let it go now, I can't!_

"Help me," he ordered, though it was more of a plea than anything else, and he felt her hand slip into his, pulling him once again to a sitting position. Draco winced through the waves of pain, waiting until they receded, leaving behind an empty, achy feeling.

"I'm not strong. If I go in there, and he tries to stop me, I'll need you."

Their eyes locked, and he send up a supplication to whatever God might have been watching over him. His only hope was this woman turned monster, and he prayed she'd help him.

"I'll be here."

Surprisingly, she didn't refuse. And for that, Draco could only be grateful.

* * *

><p>The pain felt like it had resided within her, as if it were the mortar holding her body together, ripping through her in agonizing waves, sometimes unbearable, sending her to the edge of consciousness but not allowing her the sweet respite she needed, and other times in sharp twinges meant to torment, to keep her on edge.<p>

There had been nothing but this pain; Hermione couldn't gauge the time, the place, how long she had been here, and how far gone she was.

All she knew was that she could smell her own fear and sweat, and she tasted the bitter, metallic, ashen taste of her own blood.

"Crucio!"

Hermione wasn't even able to see how it was that tortured her so, for her vision was blurred and uncertain, only suddenly sharpened by the horrific waves of pain. And then, she could do nothing but close her eyes tight and scream her agony.

It burned, rushing through her, awakening everything inside of her, ever nerve ending, making her aware of how truly _human_ she was, how easily she felt pain.

She screamed.

Each scream made her throat raw and her head spin dangerously.

She screamed anyway, terrified, alone and afraid that this was what it felt like to lose your mind. She grasped onto anything she could think of to keep her sanity. She thought of Lily, James and Albus. She thought of Ginny, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. She thought of Harry, of Seamus…

She thought of Draco, of the way he had whispered his love, of the way his arms felt, the only safety she had in the whole, wide world. Was he dead? Was he alive? Had Ginny escaped? What about Lavender and Blaise, what about the rest of WERA?

She held onto those thoughts, crying, screaming through the terrifying pain. Waiting for it to stop.

It always did, and she would fall back against the metal table she was lying on, head hitting the hard surface, and her ragged, whimpered breathing the only sound in the room.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again, bitch. Who told you about the breakout? You knew, I KNOW you knew!"

But Hermione would now allow the Ministry to break her; she would not turn Draco in. How could she? After everything he had done for her?

"I didn't," she managed to choke out, swallowing back her own blood. "I didn't. I was told to go, and I went. Please, I didn't!"

She closed her eyes again, weaker each time as the pain enveloped her in its agonizing grip and she writhed on the table.

_Let me die! I can't do this much longer…please please please…_

There was a crash from somewhere nearby, but Hermione's ears were ringing and she couldn't be sure. There was muffled shouting, and she was trying to catch her breath so she could hear what was going on.

Scuffling, more shouting and then footsteps, a weak, but warm grip in her own. She was too weak to respond, only sighing. Her eyelids fluttered open as a hand brushed away her dirty, sweaty curls.

What she saw when she opened her eyes was salvation.

"Dra-"

He stopped her, gently whispering for her to be quiet, to not say a word. His hand was gentle and warm in hers, but the panicked look in his quicksilver eyes caused her to fall silent and lip against the cold, metal table she lay on. As long as he was alive, as long as he was holding her hand, she could wait.

Head swimming, Hermione was only half aware of what was going on around her, or the fact that Draco had withdrawn his hand from hers to join Pansy, who had just lifted her wand to aim directly at Flint's heart.

"Don't you see? She's nearly dead, you big oaf! You'd kill our only source of information, would you? And why is that? To play out your sick fantasies?"

Her eyes flashed with disgust and hatred, and Flint took a step back, his wand lowering with trepidation.

"I'm sick of you, stupid bitch!" he hissed. "You're as bad as Malfoy, aren't you? Weak and afraid! That's right," he continued, seeing her eyes flash with growing contempt. "You're pathetic, Pansy! Pining after some loser like he's the second coming of Merlin!"

His obsidian eyes glittered within a round, ugly face framed by lank, black hair.

"You both make me sick!" he cried out. "What do you think that Mudblood is going to tell you, huh? What are you going to do, hold her hand and politely ask her to admit what she's done?"

Draco felt dizzy as he took a step back, putting himself directly between Hermione and Flint, just as Pansy advanced, still holding her wand high.

"You throw another curse at her, and it your ass, Flint. I'm warning you. Don't you forget who you are and what I am here!"

"I'm sick of your false bravado!"

Draco saw everything in slow motion, as Flint lumbered forward with full force. He wasn't strong enough, and the way his head pounded made it difficult to move, to act, to do _anything,_ and he felt himself being propelled backwards, crashing to the ground in a riotous explosion of pain. He fought against it however, seeing Flint's true intent: the woman on the table, who still lay helpless to the whims of the sadistic monster advancing on her.

"Stupid Mudblood bitch!" he nearly shrieked, reaching down and grabbing her up by her dirty and bloodied clothing. "Disgusting liar!"

He threw her onto the ground, an object and not a human any longer. He kicked her once, twice – hard, swift kicks. At first the girl on the ground struggled, but soon, she was still.

"Stupefy!"

Pansy's strangled shriek rang out in the room, and Flint fell, dead still. Then, there was only breathing. Draco crawled like some sort of insect, pushing aside two fallen chairs, tears of pain coursing down his face. His body felt like it would break at any moment, but he could only think about Hermione, fallen and bloody on the ground. Somehow, he did not have the strength or the mind to do anything but stare, and it was Pansy who leaned down, pressing her ear against the other woman's chest.

"She needs a Healer," she managed to whisper. "I'll go, quickly. You stay. Don't say a word. We need her alive."

Getting up, Pansy pushed through the mess in the room and out the door, letting in a cold rush of smoke-scented air. It felt like a blessing to Draco, who was struggling to breathe.

"Hermione," he whispered, using the rest of his strength to gather her battered and worn body into his arms.

She did not stir. He gazed down at her bruised face, the swollen mouth, lacerations that painted her delicate skin. More scars, he knew. More scars for her to remember and to hate him for. He tenderly traced the lines of her nose, her chin, and then placed a trembling kiss against her forehead, brushing aside the soft, metallic and ash scented strands of her hair. His fingers wrapped around hers, bringing her hand up to his mouth. For a moment, he flashed back to the courtyard, months before, recalling the humid night of the hottest day of the year, when he had held her in the same way, wondering at her beautiful hands.

Then, he had mocked and derided her for her need to reach out and comfort another. He had wondered with disdain at why she was so willing to put herself aside to help someone else. He had wanted to laugh at her folly. He had wondered at how many others she had touched. Never had he imagined then, where he would be _now. _

Never had he believed he could love her, and that she would love him, too.

Never.

_She touched me! I was one of the lucky ones!__ I'm loved by her! How could anyone want more? _

His heart hammering so hard he though he might faint with it, Draco held her more closely.

"I love you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I failed, I know. I swear, I didn't know this would happen, but, but God, Hermione…I'll make him pay, I will. Oh, God…please…"

His tears made any more words impossible, and he simply leaned down, holding her closely and wept. He wept for everything that had happened, and everything that he had done. He wept for the world, and the way it was. He wept because he was terrified that she would die and he'd never be able to tell her again how much she meant to him, and how she had saved him in spite of his damnation.

For a moment, there was nothing but peace and the feel of her cool body against his, and then, Draco was startlingly aware of growing warmth between them. His mind slow and confused, he didn't realize at first what it was, but then…then…

Blood.

Hands and fingers shaking, he pulled away from her to look down between them in alarm. It was a crimson stain, garish and terrible, spreading along her shabby clothing like a dark flower blooming.

"No," he breathed, eyes widening as his hands covered her, as if it would help stave the flow.

No, no, no, no, no….

"Hermione," he croaked, but she only fell to the side, unmoving.

"NO!"

Ignoring the screaming protestations of his own body, he lifted her, limp and bleeding, and stumbled towards the door.

Though Draco was unsure of how much time had actually passed, the courtyard stood in shambles, two black, burned structures still standing around it, like hovering, black skeletons. The ground was littered with dirt and ashes, remnants of clothing and other suck objects, and the darkness made it impossible for Draco to see beyond the tears that blurred his vision.

He managed to see that Pansy was moving back towards the half-burned offices, leading a man who wore robes indicating that he was a Healer. With a groan, he stumbled forward, nearly falling over. Hermione seemed so heavy, she seemed so…

* * *

><p>The elderly wizard knelt down next to the fallen Ministry official, checking his pulse.<p>

"He's not doing too well," he said to the woman who had introduced herself as the director of the alienage. "But I must attend to the girl first. She is bleeding rather quickly and it is alarming."

Pansy, pale faced and stern, nodded.

"Do what you must, but help him. He's in charge here, and we can't lose another official, not after…after what's happened, and I…"

Terrified and ashamed, Pansy fought a bout of bitter, hot tears.

Without a word, the Healer lifted his wand.

"Locomotor corpus," he whispered, and Pansy watched, feeling a sense of relief as the two bodies that had fallen at their feet, one pale and the other bleeding profusely, were lifted up and began to float.

"I'll need some time, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy nodded, staring down at Draco's lifeless, pale body as it hovered in midair.

"Take all the time you need. Help him. Help-"

The Healer brushed past her, his face of the utmost seriousness. He left Pansy feeling alone and more helpless than she could ever remember. Now what would she do? How could she face Bellatrix and Dolohov and those others she would have to answer to. And what of the Lord himself?

She recalled how last year, one of the newly hired officials had hung himself in his office. For the first time, Pansy could understand why death seemed such a blessing.

Draco winced as the Healer applied the last of the burn healing paste to the wounds on his chest and arms. He looked down at his own torso, wincing at the glaring, unsightly marks that peppered his alabaster skin.

_When did all that happen?_

He couldn't remember, but then again, he was rather glad for it.

"Here, take this," said the elderly wizard, holding up a metal cup with something purple inside. Draco shook his head.

"I can't," he muttered, recognizing the liquid as a sleeping draught. He pushed away the concoction, looking towards the woman who still lay unmoving.

"What of her?"

The wizard sighed, putting the potion to the side.

"She had several broken bones, but nothing I couldn't heal."

Pursing his lips he continued.

"The blood loss is what I was concerned about, you see. I have replenished her blood, but I cannot give back everything she has lost."

Something inside of Draco stopped, twisting and tightening so that he could hardly breathe. Lungs aching, he looked up.

No.

No.

"You see, she was with child."

In many ways, Draco was a lucky man, for the building that housed the infirmary was far enough away that none heard his plaintive wail except for the Healer.


	38. Chapter 38

_Wow guys – thank you for all your support. My last chapter received the most feedback of any! For that, I am grateful. Here's the __follow-up – and a gentle reminder that this is still rather difficult material, although this chapter focuses more on Pansy, and the next will be mostly Dramione. I had initially thought my next chapter would come first, but I changed my mind. I want to address one of my reviewers, the one who mentioned that Lavender is a pureblood. I just want to say that, although I've seen her written as such, the Lexicon has stated that she's not canonically pureblood. So that would make it so she's either half-blood or a Muggle-born. I chose whichever fit. Just wanted to respond since I couldn't directly PM. _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT<p>

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><p>"You see, she was with child."<p>

Draco refused to believe that he had heard those words. He put his hands over his ears, his heart refusing to acknowledge what his mind already knew; his second child, a child he would never meet, one who he hadn't even _known_ about, was dead.

_Dead._

A child that he would never get the opportunity to hold and touch, to smile at, and to raise…a child who had never been given a real chance, but murdered by the sadistic and hateful world that it would have been born into.

_My baby! Hermione's baby._

He was trembling outwardly, gazing down at the ground so he wouldn't have to look up at the Healer's face.

_Our baby. Oh, God! Our little baby!_

The wail that escaped him was broken and lost. Even though he fought against himself, trying to keep it from coming, somehow it still did, poignant and heartbreaking. Suddenly Draco felt like the room was stifling; like it was closing in on him, the four walls rushing at him with a violent force, as if to crush him by their weight. He would have welcomed it, if only he had known for certain that it was Death that was coming for him. But he didn't know.

Breathing heavily, he began to rock, his head between his legs, willing the turbulent waves of panic to cease, but they only came faster, more determinedly, with more fury.

_No, no, no, no_….

Not his child, not his baby, not another one…_not another one_.

_My fault…oh, Merlin…my fault! For all the lives I've taken, all the pain I've caused! My very __grievous fault, and I-_

Hot tears spilled from behind his hands, and he began to shake with the force of his sobbing. Somewhere in the background of his tormented mind, Draco could hear the sound of the elderly wizard, the touch of his hand, the way he was trying to gently push that same bloody flask of potion into his hands.

He pushed it away; he willed the Healer to stop, to leave him alone with his misery and the utter devastation he felt. A devastation he'd believed he would never feel again after that late afternoon he had held the fevered body of his deceased son. As he rocked back and forth in that too-small room, Draco wondered helplessly how he would ever be able to handle the flood of gut-wrenching loss that crushed him in its grip.

Finally, he wasn't able to handle anymore, and stumbled to the door, fumbling for the handle. He turned to see the Healer wearing a concerned expression.

"You aren't well. You should stay here to gather your strength."

Draco choked on his tears.

"You don't understand, you old codger," he hissed. "What's it matter what happens to me? I lost a _baby._ I don't give a damn what happens to me now!"

With that, he was gone, but Draco didn't know where he'd go – he was afraid to leave, but afraid to stay. He wanted to die, and he wanted to hold Hermione. He stumbled into the darkness, more lost than he could ever remember.

What purpose was there for him now? He had ruined Hermione's life, and he had killed his own unborn child.

* * *

><p>Her eyelids felt heavy.<p>

It was impossible to open them, and so she floated in a strange, black dream-like state, although she could sometimes hear voices around her.

Hermione was aware of very little except that there was no pain. Even though her body was too heavy for her to lift, at least there was no pain. She couldn't remember where she had been, and did not know where she was now. At times, the voices were clear, and she could hear discussions of 'blood', 'potion', 'weak' and 'monitor closely'. And sometimes, the darkness was blessedly silent and she could her nothing but her steady heartbeat and even breaths.

She had no knowledge of how much time had passed when she first opened her eyes. What she saw was the blurry face of an elderly wizard with kind, dark eyes and a long grey beard. She felt the gentle touch of his weathered hand on her forehead and the way he gently wiped a cool cloth along her skin. She opened her mouth to thank him, but what came out was a garbled sound, nearly like a moan.

Could she not speak? Would they not understand her? Where was Draco?

"Here, child," said the Healer, offering her a potion which she tried to swallow though much of it leaked from her trembling lips and was soaked up by the clothes she wore.

It tasted familiar. Perhaps Pepperup Potion or something nearly like it. It sent waves of warmth through her, like the feeling of the sea against her toes. For a moment, she felt lucid and tried to express her gratitude to the nameless man who had shown her such great kindness. She wondered if he was with the Ministry, or if he knew her blood status, or if this place was somewhere safe. Perhaps Draco had found her a place to rest. A place where there was no Marcus Flint and no more horrible pain.

Tears welled in her eyes as the thought of what she had been through. She thought of Justin, of Ginny…of Lily…of-

"There, there…"

He was whispering to her, and Hermione's vision blurred with the hot tears that rolled down her face. The emotional pain crushed her, making it harder to take a breath and soon, Hermione felt like she was suffocating and fell into a blessed blackness where she knew nothing, hoping that when she woke next, she would find salvation.

The next time she opened her eyes, the battle weary heart within her soared.

_Draco._

She could not say his name, no matter how she tried, and he only leaned down, brushing his lips against he forehead with the softest of caresses.

"Hush…don't say a word," he whispered, and Hermione felt the touch of his hand warm within her own, though her fingers found no strength to hold on to him, and so she allowed him to be the strength for them both.

As her wide cinnamon eyes flickered across his face, tears filled them and spilled over in silence. They were tears of relief, of uncertainty, of pain and of longing.

What had happened? How had they gotten here? What was waiting for them?

Draco saw her silent agitation, the attempts at finding her voice, the weakness within her. She was too ill yet, too weak to bear the burdens thrust upon her. All he knew was that he would protect her. If he had to die to do so, he would do it.

"Hush," he tried again.

He smiled, hoping to alleviate some of the fear she must have been feeling. The fear of the unknown was often the worst fear of all.

"I'll go get the Healer," he whispered, leaning in to caress her satiny cheeks with his thumbs.

Hermione found a moment of strength to squeeze his fingers at an attempt to keep him by her side. Now that she knew he was alive, that she had seen the familiarity and safety in his grey eyes, she was afraid to let him go. As he moved, releasing her hand from his, Hermione found her voice.

"D-don't leave me!"

It was the weakest of utterances; her voice a battered croak in her throat. Draco stopped and swallowed back his pain and guilt.

"I'm not leaving you," he whispered. "I'd never leave you."

Her beautiful, wild eyes flickered over his in panic, as she clutched desperately at his hands to keep him there.

"No, stay..."

"I love you, Hermione. Hold onto that. I'm going to get you help. Please…just hang on."

He hated leaving her this way, knowing she was terrified.

_I must protect her._

* * *

><p>The alienage was empty; it was a ghost of what it had been before. The remains of the buildings, the ashes that littered the grounds and the half-standing enclosures were a bleak snapshot of the resistance that was standing against the Ministry. It seemed, in this place, that the losses seemed doubled, that the devastation left behind more poignant.<p>

Dozens of Ministry officials had perished.

Half the Mudbloods had escaped.

It had been a startling victory for the Alliance, a flare of hope to light the hearts of those battling against the Ministry.

These were just the facts; they did not scare her, not really. What terrified her most was that someone would pay for what had happened – and pay dearly. And because of this, for the first time since taking the Mark, Pansy Parkinson crumbled beneath the weight of her fear.

In the nearly seven years that she had been in the service of Bellatrix Lestrange, second in command to the Lord, Pansy had seen death. She had gloried in it, she had killed because in her world, it was kill or be killed; it was destroy or be taken down. She had never been one to stand back and let things happen. Instead, Pansy had always been a woman of action. To see death once had been harrowing, but to see it over and over made it much too familiar, like the things she did everyday. Death had become a companion in Pansy's world – as intimate as the touch of her many lovers, or the whispered words of a mother she no longer remembered. At first, the pain and suffering she had caused during the waking hours ate away at her conscience as she tried to sleep. Soon, she had learned that it was just easier to silence those parts of her that cried out against what she was doing, for her conscience had become an obstacle between herself and her goals. Had sacrificing that part of herself truly been such a high price to pay for security? It hadn't seemed such in a world where there had been no true certainties. At least, knowing she was on the side of the Ministry had ensured a proper job, a warm flat, food in her belly and something to wake up for. Even if her waking hours seemed an endless reel of pain, suffering, of tears, screams, panic, terror, and ultimately, death.

Learning how to silence those voices had been a challenge, but Pansy had succeeded. She no longer lived in a world where there was right and wrong, but instead, lived life day to day, doing what she needed to survive. And how she had laughed! How she had laughed at those less fortunate, those who had chosen to oppose the Ministry and those who were Mudbloods and would never have a chance. She had laughed at them all, for their fate would be worse than hers, and she had laughed because deep inside, Pansy envied them.

She had envied them because they were allowed to scream their fear aloud, to wallow in their pain whilst she was not. She had faced things just as horrid as they, and she had to remain strong, a sentinel against the fear that daily threatened to destroy her, to drive her mad, to erase her.

_I can't breathe._

And how she loathed the Ministry! How she loathed the very organization that had made her what she was, and had stolen her soul and sense of self at the same time. She loathed who she was and how she had become a woman she no longer recognized.

Choking on the breath of icy air she had just taken, Pansy's watery eyes lifted towards the horizon, where she could see Bellatrix Lestrange just exiting the makeshift offices that had been set up in lieu of those burned down. Her husband followed, wearing a long, billowing cloak, and she recognized the third man as Fenrir Greyback.

Pansy shuddered, still recalling the way he had used her in the past and the way she had degraded herself at his command. Tears of humiliation filled her eyes, burning hot in the icy morning air.

_I can't breathe._

She had already stood before the Ministry's disciplinary committee, and the hours upon hours of interrogation had drained Pansy, leaving in their wake a small, dried husk of the woman she truly was. And still, she knew nothing of her future with the Ministry – either if they would spare her the worst of her punishment or if they would do as she feared and strip her of her position.

_Everything I have done, every soul I have destroyed will be for naught if I do not have my job.__ It is all I have left; everything else I ever had is gone._

The three Death Eaters in the distance faded into the morning haze, and Pansy was all alone. Still, she did not break down, even though the urge to wail overwhelmed her completely. Instead, she stood, breathing heavily, her head spinning with too many thoughts, her heart beating queerly within her. As she turned, she found it was more difficult that morning to put one foot in front of the other, willing herself to go where she needed to go, to continue with her day just like all the others. She had to meet Draco; she had wanted to say no, but the power he held over her would be her downfall. He was the only weakness that Pansy had ever truly known.

_If I just keep going, they will not stop me. They will not destroy me._

Head lowered against the biting wind, Pansy moved towards the infirmary just as she did each morning. She wondered why she continued to care for a man who cared nothing for her, but she knew that Draco was the only thing that grounded her, the only reason she still had to hold onto this life. As sad and pathetic as she knew she was being, still it was the truth. As she thought back to the day in the interrogation room when Marcus had determined to kill both Draco and the Mudblood, her heart froze with the same utter terror that she had felt while it was happening. Since then, she had never again looked in Flint's direction; he was dead to Pansy - as dead as all those she had murdered.

_I should have known that there would never be any other man; I wasted myself with others to numb the truth – I have always been Draco's. _

But he would never be hers.

Pansy saw him standing near the building that housed the infirmary, closest to the row buildings where the Dementors were caged. Beyond it, she could see the fencing that had been destroyed by the Alliance the night of the breakout. It was just another, painful reminder of what she stood to lose.

He was smoking a cigarette, his eyes trained on something in the alabaster dreariness of the horizon. When he heard her approach, Pansy could see him turning to face her, dropping and crushing the cigarette beneath his boot. She was shaken by the paleness of his countenance, and as she neared, by the loss reflected in the depths of his eyes.

_If I hadn't sold my soul, it would be crying now._

Pansy stared at him, but found she was unable to speak.

"The Ministry gave me my suspension this morning. It came via floo."

Draco's voice was devoid of any emotion.

She nodded, swallowing back all the feelings raging within her.

"I stood before the committee. They have yet to decide."

They stood together in a silence Pansy didn't understand, until he spoke in a voice she no longer recognized.

"I won't be coming back here."

"W-what?" Her head shot up, eyes widening.

"I won't be coming back. As soon as I can find a place to go, I'm leaving here. I'm leaving London. I'm leaving England."

"Draco, you can't-"

He stopped her, the look on his deathly pale face harsh, her heart frozen like a lake in bitter winter.

"Don't you see the utter destruction around you, Pansy? Does _nothing_ affect you?" he spat, his voice a hiss of hatred. "Don't you see how they'll never stop until they destroy everything they can? Can't you see what they've done to us? What they're trying to make us become?"

He shook his head, grimacing.

"I can't do this anymore."

Faced with all her past deeds, pointed out by a man whom she admired, coveted, loved for so long, Pansy couldn't keep the bout of tears at bay, and they shimmered on the edge of her control, threatening to break her.

_You're wrong, Draco! If only you really knew how wrong you are!_

"Where will you go?" she whispered with despair.

Living without him seemed impossible. The idea of waking up and knowing she wouldn't see him unfathomable. He was wrong, she knew. Pansy had forgotten how to feel many things, but the love she felt for him still burned with an undying heat inside of her. For him, she would always burn, always feel. Her tears would always be for him.

Draco shook his head, swallowing back his anger. He flung out his hand angrily.

"I don't know. Away."

"Draco, please…"

For the first time since she had arrived, Draco took a closer look at the woman whom he had spent most of his life hating. What had she become? What had the Ministry made her? Her dark eyes glimmered with unshed tears, the pain that she kept contained at all times painted along her face, causing her mouth to tremble and her face to pale. Though he could see no signs of physical pain, he knew there were scars – ghostly scars, but there all the same.

He could look at her no longer, and dropped his head, his fists clenched against the flood of his own pain, the damage he had taken for years. When he finally looked up, his eyes were alight with passion.

"They want all goodness within us to die. They've tried to give us this false sense of security, of independence, but Zabini's been right this whole time! They own us, and they'll destroy us the moment we no longer serve their unholy purposes. I won't let them do it to me! Most of the others are gone already; they've succumbed to this…disease the Ministry is spreading. But I know you, and you're stronger than that, Pansy."

A single tear rolled down her face.

"It's not true," she whispered raggedly.

"You saved my life that day with Flint. You could have let him kill me, and you could have allowed him to murder…"

Somehow, saying Hermione's name was impossible.

A bit of color flooded Pansy's cheeks, blooming like a rose in winter.

"Don't say it!" she hissed from behind clenched teeth, her eyes watering furiously.

"Pansy…"

"I only did it for you, don't you see, you fool?" she cried out. "Because I love you and I can't seem to stop!"

Draco searched her tear-filled eyes, wishing that so many things were different, but never regretting a moment spent with Hermione. But in a strange way, he saw himself in Pansy's eyes, could understand the pain of what she was feeling.

"I'm sorry."

Slowly, with careful deliberation, Draco reached out, offering his hand. She stepped back, horrified.

"Don't. I can't bear to feel your touch!"

Pansy flinched at the thought, both with deeply buried desire and shallowly planted hatred. Her lips trembled, and finally the tears rolled down her frozen cheeks.

"How can you just leave me? I can't-"

Her hands trembled with emotion as she fought for words.

"I can't lose you. Not when I stand to lose everything else."

She watched him, hoping to see a signs of his relenting, but he remained stiff, unable to gaze back at her. His words broke her heart.

"How can you say that? You can't lose something you never even stood to gain!"

Pansy knew life was cruel; she had seen the hand of cruelty too much to believe otherwise. It hurt more though, coming from someone she loved so much. It seemed strange that it was Draco who was trying to throw her world into darkness, to stomp out all her hopes and dreams – and yet, he was the man she _loved_.

His voice softened when he spoke.

"All I can say is thank you for what you did." He took a breath. "I owe you much I imagine…and I know I cannot give you what you really want. And for that I am sorry."

"I'm sick of your apologies, and sick of hearing your stupid, fucking voice, Draco! Just shut up! Don't say another word!" she shrieked in her growing frustration.

Breathing heavily, Pansy covered her mouth with one hand, willing herself to regain the control that was slowly slipping away from her. Tears tasted bitter as she choked on them, turning away from Draco so he wouldn't see her humiliation.

How she hated him! How she loathed the world she lived in and relished the thought of dying! She was alone and frightened and no longer recognized the woman she saw in the mirror.

_Without him, you are completely lost. More lost than you felt in Marcus' arms, and those nights with Fenrir. More lost than the first time you took a life by your wand. Without him, what is there to live for?_

She was frozen by this thought, unable to move, to speak, to put one foot in front of the other and continue on with life. The door behind them opened, and Pansy turned to see the Healer standing on the doorstep and the look on Draco's face was like another knife through the heart.

Strangely enough, Pansy was readily willing to admit that the afternoon in her flat, when he had confessed his love for a wife who didn't love _him_, Pansy hadn't believed it. Too long ago she had convinced herself that Draco had never loved his wife, and not even an admission as heart-felt as it had seemed, would sway her. But now, it was not words that she heard, but the expression she _saw_.

And sometimes, one look spoke more than a hundred words could ever express.

_That had been a ploy. A ploy to help a Mudblood he looked me in the face and told me he cared nothing for._

But he could not hide the look in his eyes, and no false words could hide the truth written in their gray depths.

_He does love, but it is not Astoria. It never has been. _

The tears burned down her face and blurred her vision so she could no longer see the longing on his face, the love shining in his eyes; a love that he felt for another woman.

_He will never be mine._

The blood rushed through her, blocking her ability to hear anything but the furious pounding of her heart. Pansy couldn't hear what the two men were discussing; she could only see Draco's face, his concern for someone else, for a _Mudblood._

She should have hated him; she should have hexed him, inflicted on him the pain she was feeling. She shouldn't have cared about Draco's pain at all. But somehow, Pansy was unable to move, staring at him brokenly.

"You lied to me," she whispered, betrayed. "That day in my flat, when you came for Lily…you lied to me."

She stared at him with dark accusation.

"It was never Astoria, was it?"

The truth was stark – written in his eyes like a hard finality. Pansy shuddered, unable to move.

"Does that _Mudblood_ not love you, Draco?" she sneered with contempt. "You've lowered yourself to her disgusting level and still she doesn't love you?"

Draco stared at her unable to muster the anger he should have felt, for he was drained of all emotion, a man who was really a shell and nothing more. He knew that Pansy would have found out the truth sooner or later for there was no one who had known him as long, no one who could read him as well as she could.

"I had to lie, don't you see?" he asked, ignoring her mockery and resentment. "You would have done the same, Pansy. You would have lied for me."

The denials and degradation bubbled to her lips, but when she attempted a reply, nothing escaped but a strangled groan. He saw her pained expression and his words tumbled over themselves, running away from him.

"You know what it feels like, I know you do! You protected me! I can't deny my feelings, and I know it makes no sense, but I can't stand back and watch this Ministry and whatever evil lives in their hearts to destroy her! I can't!"

His eyes were ablaze with a passion Pansy had never seen in the whole of their lengthy relationship – whatever it was. He had hated her, he had been irritated with her, they had been casual friends, business associates, and now somehow thrown into a trap neither had wanted. And never had he looked at her with the intensity that was on his face now. They may have handled what fate had given them in different ways, but Pansy knew that they were really not that different; she had chosen to erase emotion, conscience, and he had chosen to wallow in guilt, never forgetting the things he had done.

But at their core, there was pain, there was love, there were the tiny hiccups of hope that they were clinging to. And the Mudblood was one of his. Now Pansy understood why he would have to leave, why he was so vehement about his decision.

_If only he knew how to love me! I could find myself, I know I could! I could try and forgive myself for all those things I've done, if only I wasn't so alone and terrified. I've lost my __way; I have…if only…_

She had lived all those years for him, in hopes that he would realize what was in front of him. She would have done anything; she would have died for him. Somehow that admission was impossible for Pansy, and she could only choke out a few words.

"This whole time…"

It was a whisper not of disbelief, but of realization. Swallowing, Pansy searched the tense lines of his once beautiful face. Now it was worn and beaten, bruised, defiled.

"If you protect her, it's at the risk of your own life."

"My life's worth is nothing if not for her."

"You'd die?"

She swallowed back the panic, her eyes wide with horror as she waited for the inevitable. His nod, the acquiescence of what she had already known.

"I'm no different than you, Pansy."

Her eyes were stricken, and a sob escaped her as she clamped her hand across her mouth as if with an effort to hold back her emotions.

"I love you," she moaned in weakness and fear.

"I know."

"They'll murder you if you do this thing, if you try to escape."

"Do you fear death?"

"No."

"I'm willing to risk it. If I die, it will be in protecting her."

Pansy's heart hammered dully within her, leaden and heavy with her grief and loss.

"If you die…"

She could not speak the words, she couldn't even _comprehend_ them. The terror seemed all too real, solid, and tangible. She watched in horror as he threw himself forward, gliding down the stairs leading from the infirmary and past her towards the ashen, gray courtyard with it's skeletal buildings.

"Draco…I won't let you do this!"

He whirled on her angrily.

"You can't stop me!"

Pansy wondered for a sad moment if he even had the inkling that she would never have tried to stop him.

"When have I tried to stop you from doing anything you wanted?" she exclaimed with bitterness.

"You tried to kill her," he hissed, his eyes flashing hatefully. "That day in the courtyard, wasn't it? Even then you were doing this…_sick_ thing, trying to get her out of the picture, weren't you?"

She wrung her hands.

"I'm still human, you daft prick! I can only handle so much, or have you forgotten that all of us have a breaking point?"

Draco though of his son, and then of the baby Hermione had lost and a rush of tears welled up in his eyes.

"I've reached mine," he choked out, shaking his head, wishing he could stop the tears. Pansy's jaw was clenched against something unknown.

"Flint will try to finger you for this," she warned, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He stands in front of the disciplinary committee this afternoon, and he's not going to take this well. You know him; we both do. You don't have much time."

Draco's eyes searched hers and he nodded.

"I know," he replied. "Let him; I don't care. I'll take the fall for this, let them take my job, let them have it all!"

"Are you mental?" she hissed. "They won't just take your job; they'll destroy you! I know it, because I had hoped that Zabini-"

She had known what they had in store for Zabini – she had been too cowardly to witness it, and that's why she had stayed away.

"Not if I'm gone before they come for me."

"Draco…"

She was wordlessly pleading for him not to go, and her eyes spoke more than any words could have.

For a moment he had the urge to crush her in an embrace, to glean comfort from her and give her something to hold on to. He wanted to beg her to help, to cover his tracks so that he could get far enough with Hermione to make a difference.

_I can't do that; I can't ask her for help._

Though it felt like something had been left unsaid, Draco hesitated only for a second, before turning around on his heel and moving back towards the infirmary, head held high. Pansy watched him go, feeling like someone had torn her in two, and those halves warred with each other in bloody battle. Her heart ached, yet it burned with hatred and anger. She wanted to hold him, and yet rip him apart for his inability to return her feelings. How was it that she felt so deeply could not be returned to her?

Soon she was alone again, and Pansy hesitated, wondering where to go. In the end, she remained standing still, lowering her face into her long cloak as if to ward off the chill. But what she was really doing was hiding her tears.


	39. Chapter 39

_Thanks__ for__ putting__ up__ with__ the__ fact__ that__ this __story __isn__'__t __always__ about__ Dramione__ and __indulging__ me__ as__ I__ develop__ this __universe__ and__ everything__ that__ is__ going __on __around __them.__ I__'__m __glad__ people__ can__ enjoy__ this __story __in__ spite__ of__ my__ wide__ focus.__ I__ think__ this__ chapter__ is __more__ what__ people__ were __waiting__ for. __It__'__s__ also __going __to __be__ awesome__ for__ those __who __love__ anguish._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE<strong>

* * *

><p>Impossible, it was impossible.<p>

Hermione felt her head pound in furious rhythm with her heart. For days, _Merlin_ – maybe even _weeks_ – she had existed in a floating darkness with only occasional moment of clarity where she would see a face, or feel the touch of one's hand. Nothing – no potion, or words – had ushered in the cruel reality the way Draco's words-

_No. He's wrong, I know he's wrong. He has to be._

She stared down at her belly, horrified, and eyes transfixed on something that wasn't there. Her hands were twisted into stiff claws.

_Ron and I never had children. I was never blessed. Babies are a blessing._

"No."

The denial was evident in her voice as she suddenly looked up at Draco plaintively. He stood, as if hesitating between going to her and dashing from the room. He looked white – too-white – she realized, and his eyes were a reflection of the sudden twisting darkness within her own heart.

Hermione swallowed, the dryness filling her mouth, making it difficult to form words. She forced a smile she didn't feel, trying to muster up nonchalance.

"No, Ron and I didn't have children. It's not possible! You can say what you want, but there was no baby."

Her jaw trembled, as she glared at him.

_Ron and I didn't have babies. Ginny had babies._

The strange thoughts she was having didn't seem to make sense although her feverish mind tried to grasp a hold of something – anything – to find a semblance of sense. _This_ didn't make sense. _This_ was having to admit that Marcus Flint had _killed_ something growing inside of her, and Hermione couldn't, she_wouldn__'__t_ accept that.

Her eyes prickled hotly.

"I want to be alone," she croaked, staring down once again at her offending middle. It was flat, just like it always had been. She was weak, yes, from the blood loss. But blood loss could have come from anything. A fall, a break, some sort of strange curse.

_It wasn't a baby._

The denial was all Hermione had to cling to, and she did so fiercely, for she feared the cold, dark fingers of insanity that loomed just on the horizon of her mind. No. No, it just wasn't true.

She straightened her stiff fingers, gently placing them on her middle, shaking her head.

"See?" She whispered. "I'm flat, Draco. There's no baby, I'm flat!" she exclaimed, shaking her head and looking up at him.

He could see her trying to handle the news he had broken, praying that somehow, they could deal with it together. Nothing had been as difficult as trying to keep from breaking down in front of her, but Draco did so, remaining strangely impassive.

"Hermione," he whispered, his heart breaking at the expression on her face, the trembling mouth, the way she was tenaciously holding onto her safety net of denial. She was glorious in her denial. He moved to reach for her, but with a vehemence he had not expected, she shoved at him.

"No," she spat. "I don't want you here spewing your lies."

Her expressive eyes flashed dangerously.

"Hermione, you weren't that far along! The Healer said you bled out and-"

There was suddenly a glimmer of tears in his eyes which he tried to furiously blink away, but Hermione saw them and they infuriated her.

"You lie!" she cried out. "You're a liar, and I don't _have_ to believe you! There wasn't a baby!"

Now, her face flushed with color as she attempted to stand, denying her weakness. For a dizzying moment nothing made sense to Hermione, for Draco was hatefully tearing down her walls of defense with his disgusting words.

"I won't believe you! There was no baby, Draco! No baby, and I'm _flat_ you lying cad!"

She stumbled then, her vision blurring. She heard his voice buzzing in the unsteady background, and suddenly she felt herself falling into his arms, as if her legs wouldn't hold her any longer. Slumping against him, she began to sob.

Draco held her, willing himself not to cry because he knew he had to be the stronger one. He would have stood in the place holding her for all time if it meant helping her.

"Hermione…"

It was all he could muster when suddenly she began to struggle against him, her body going rigid and the sobs turning into mewls and then soft howling. Hermione began to pulling at herself, running her fingernails across her middle at first with frustration and then increasing wrath. Her howling increased as she thrashed against him, ripping at her flesh, leaving red marks behind.

"Stop," he whispered, suddenly grabbing her arms and holding them against her sides.

She looked up at him and Draco was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sadness for the look in those wild eyes was enough to break his heart. The light – that forever burning light that had filled him with hope and which he had clung to in his darkest moments – was put out, leaving him drowning in a sea of blackness. She struggled against his grip, making gruff, animalistic sounds of fear and despair, pulling away from him, and then shoving against him, willing herself free from his clutches.

"Stop!"

This time, his words were more adamant but Hermione only yanked harder, looking up at him wordlessly, her eyes darkening with vehemence. When he countered by tightening his hold on her, she only spit in his face, struggling with increasing rage.

"Let me go!"

"Stop this," he hissed over the sound of her wails. "I know it hurts, Hermione, but you have to-"

Glaring up at him with unbridled despair, she shook her head.

"No, you don't know," she growled hatefully. "You don't know! Look what they've done to me! Look what they've done to everyone I love, everything that means anything to me!"

She choked on her own words, coughing and struggling still.

"I want to die! What kind of life is this, Draco? They try to take everything away, don't they? They destroy and defile everything pure, everything good in this world! They've killed my BABY! My BABY!"

She began to sob, and Draco held her as closely as he dared, for she was shaking as if with convulsions, though he knew that it was simply the force of her sobbing. The net of denial was gone now and Hermione had begun a swift descent into despair, and he clung to her tightly, as if just his touch could save her from the pain she was experiencing.

Guilt raged within Draco, guilt over his loss, and what he could have and didn't do to prevent it. Guilt over the fact that he couldn't protect her from a world that wanted to completely destroy her. Some things were worse than death, he knew. And he could only imagine what she was feeling, the loss of a child she had not known compounding everything else – her physical pain, the loss of her family, her husband her friends, and the fear of what would happen to her eventually.

_And here I stand, helpless and worthless to her. Yet, still she loves me._

She sobbed his name, and Draco felt the warmth of her tears wetting his shirt front as he whispered against her hair – words he couldn't understand and would never recall. Words that he knew she wouldn't hear anyway. He found himself aware that Hermione had stopped struggling and now her fingers had curled around his upper arms, her fingers running up along his shoulders and against the skin of his neck, cool against the heat there. He felt her digging into his flesh, the sensation sharp but not unpleasant, and Draco welcomed the pain. She dug harder, her body wracked with sobs of abandon, pressing herself closer to him. Words fell from her lips, thick and unintelligible, but he could hear his name, and he could hear the utter devastation in every syllable. Over and over she sobbed his name, and he felt his own tears mingling with hers.

They stood there in that way for an indefinable amount of time until Hermione shifted, lifting her face towards his. She was no longer struggling but instead pressed limply against him.

"He killed the baby," she whispered, and Draco ran his fingers across her face, brushing aside her thick hair which was dampened by her tears.

"I know."

"Why?"

It was just a word, he knew. But it tore at him in ways he couldn't explain and killed a small part of him because no matter how much she wanted it, there were no answers. His eyes searched her face, following a single, glistening tear as it made its way down her face, trembling in the edge of her chin and then falling. The tear was no more. Gone, like their baby. Gone, and having taken a part of Hermione – a part that she hadn't known even existed, and dimming something inside of her.

"No one knows why."

How was he to explain the overwhelming pain that pressed upon his heart? How was he to explain the loss that he felt – the same loss that he had felt at the death of his first baby? Impossible, he knew.

Gently, Draco leaned down and pressed his lips against the coolness of her forehead, feeling Hermione sigh. She smelled of mint and herbs, like the potion that the Healer had been administering to her for days.

Hermione's expression was unreadable, a faraway look in her brown eyes, a glimmer of contemplation.

"Just a baby, Draco, a beautiful, innocent life."

And how was one to explain how quickly Voldemort's Ministry desired to crush just those things? Beauty, innocence and hope. The possibility of a bright future, laughter, joy?

"I'm sorry."

She turned her gaze up towards his and then leaned in to press her mouth against his, sighing as she did so. He dared to close his eyes for a split second, relishing the velvet softness of her kiss, trying to imagine that they were somewhere else. It was impossible.

"It was yours too."

Her voice trembled but was no longer a whisper.

"Ours."

Draco nodded and felt Hermione resting her head against his chest.

"You don't have to be sorry," she told him softly. It was those words which made his heart weep with indescribable guilt.

"I _do_ have to be sorry. I said I'd protect you. I've done nothing but hurt you. I'm not just sorry about this baby, Hermione. I'm sorry about everything that I can't protect you from. I'm sorry about the way that those others treat you and the position I'm in."

His fingers reached down to tip her chin up so those glorious, haunted eyes met his.

"I can't explain how you make me feel, Hermione. Not if I tried. My life was dead until you breathed your life into it. Everything I had meant nothing until you touched me. You've given me hope and reason." He took a breath. "I can't say how much that means to me."

She remained silent, feeling a hollow emptiness at the despair written harshly in the lines of his beautiful face. She wanted to reach up and smooth those lines away, to ease his pain even if for a moment. She wanted to have those few but precious moments in which he was smiling at her the way he had the morning she had awakened in his arms…

"Draco…"

The reality, however, was infinitely crueler.

"And what have I done to deserve what you've given me?" Draco asked bitterly. "I'm ashamed of what I've said and how I've reacted. I'm weak, and can't protect you from all those who want to hurt you!"

His hands stiffened around her waist.

"I can't even look at you without feeling disgusted at myself," he hissed with vehemence. "I let our baby die! I've let you get hurt over and over again! I can't stop any of this and I feel so…fucking inadequate, Hermione! Everything falls apart around me, don't you see that? I can't protect you! I couldn't even protect my-"

He choked on the words, on his self-hatred. Suddenly, Draco couldn't bear to look at her face another second and pushed away, feeling the cold hand of hopelessness grip him.

The image of his baby boy smiling up from the small faded photograph assaulted each of his senses, and a small, choked sob escaped Draco as he tried to swallow back the sudden desire to cry. Now, in light of their great loss, he felt the wounds so carefully healed bleed once again.

"I can't protect _anyone_ I love."

There was a long, tense silence and Hermione wondered what she could do to ease the pain that gripped him. The pain of loss was so poignant that she felt it with each breath, every single heartbeat. Her voice quavered.

"You protected Lily! You protect me! You may choose to quickly forget that, but I can't!"

Draco turned at the sound of her voice, shaking his head.

"I was selfish. Lily ended up safe because you would have taken her place."

"And you convinced Pansy to leave me alone," was her whispered reply. At this, Draco shook his head.

"I was afraid to lose you."

"Because you love me!"

Her eyes were tear-stained, glittering jewels.

"I'm alone in this world," she managed to say, her eyes swimming with the pain of ridicule and rejection. "It's hard to understand how I feel each time you tell me you love me."

Before he could say more, she continued.

"I'm not afraid to say his name," she managed. "The whole time we spent our last year searching for those horcruxes and running from Voldemort, and even that day at Hogwarts when I laid eyes on him the last time…"

She looked away, her voice ghostly. Draco found it so strange, because in the years after the fall of the Ministry, no one talked about Voldemort. He simply _was._

"I wasn't afraid of him, but I was afraid of the way the world was. Evil is…we're all capable of it, you know."

She sighed.

"I think he knew that. So in some ways, deep down, he always had the advantage. I know they say that good always triumphs, but the truth is that in the world there's this…this propensity for evil, and sometimes all it takes is a weak will and a strong personality and…"

Draco nodded stiffly.

"Voldemort found more than one of those," he replied hoarsely, more afraid than Hermione, ironically, to say his name. Hermione nodded, looking towards the small window on the other side of the room. The sky was gray.

"While we were on the run, I started to forget what it was like to be loved," she whispered. "I knew those I was with loved me, but the world was such a different place and sometimes fear makes you forget all those other emotions. And when he died…"

There was a long, hard silence.

"I watched Ron die, and then Harry…and I just- seeing Justin the night of the raid…"

She shuddered, fresh tears leaking from eyes that she had thought could cry no more. It had brought back all those awful memories – the fear, the helplessness and horror she had felt as Ginny had tried to pull her out of their hiding place.

"I hadn't wanted to leave him behind," she whispered then, to no one in particular. "And I didn't want Justin to-"

Draco had been staring at her, and suddenly he moved to wrap his arms around her thin body, wishing there was more he could do to ease the obvious pain she was feeling.

"No one wants death."

His breath tickled her cheek and Hermione leaned in towards him. Slowly, she raised her eyes towards a face of hopelessness.

"When I came here I never thought I would see another face of compassion. I never thought someone would touch me again with anything but disgust. I never imagined still being alive now."

Hermione's trembling fingers came up to run along his bruised and pale flesh.

"No matter what you feel about yourself, Draco, it's all because of you. You've loved me in spite of what they taught you. You've showed me that even amidst such destruction and the way that things are now, there is still love."

She pressed her trembling lips against his cheek, closing her tired eyes.

"And I love you," she whispered. "I love you no matter what you've been through and what they've made you become. And I will love you no matter what is to come."

When she opened her eyes, his were filled with tears.

"And it breaks my heart to see you cry," she whispered, and her fingers came up to wipe his eyes. "I'm still here, Draco. Let me be your hope."

He buried his face against her neck, shaking with his tears, clinging to her.

"You always were," he moaned. "You always were."

They sat there like that for a time innumerable. She felt his fingers slip down to rest on her belly.

"I never wanted it to happen," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot. The words seemed pointless to Draco, but he needed to say them, even if to confirm in his own mind.

"I know," she replied. "It wasn't you. It was this whole-"

Hermione felt his fingers running through her hair ever so gently.

"I had a son."

The words were roughened by his withheld emotion. She stopped breathing for a moment, feeling his fingers tightening in hers.

"He would have been five this year."

Hermione had known loss and she knew how helpless she felt against the inability to change one horrible situation after another. Never had she imagined, however, that those on the other side, those she had hated for so long, could know that feeling. They were the strong; they were the ones who had the world at their fingertips. They served a leader who controlled everything and gave them everything. They were not ridiculed or stripped of their humanity and their choices. They were the ones Marked. They were the ones who suffered no loss and pain, those who were given what they wanted and more.

But as Hermione gazed at Draco's pale face, all she could see was a man alone and afraid, who had felt loss as powerful as she. A man who had been forced to make choices not his own and who…

_What a fool I've been this whole time!_

"Draco, I'm so-"

"You never have to be sorry," he spat from behind clenched teeth. Draco no longer looked at Hermione, but into somewhere she could not reach. "It was scarlet fever, the Healers say. I was so busy with work, with this damned Ministry to worry about my own son!"

His voice changed; it became a plaintive moan.

"It was just too much for me! I was young and confused, pulled in a thousand different directions, focused on my new life, my wife who needed constant coddling and reaffirmation and a job that was taking my life unbeknownst to me!"

He was trembling now.

"I could have taken more time for my family, but they wouldn't allow it. My father was pushing for the promotion, and I was spending so much time at work…"

He gazed at Hermione brokenly.

"I did love him," he whispered emphatically. "I loved my boy so much! He was my life, that tiny little sliver of light in a world that was so dark! None of us who worked in that Ministry really believed that…"

It had been hopeless.

"Only a few of them really loved what they were doing, Hermione. What Voldemort was making us do."

Hermione searched his face but said nothing.

"I resented having so little control over my own life, but I kept telling myself it was what was expected of me, what I was supposed to do! And then…Scorpius came along."

There was something beautiful about the way a little boy's name fell from the lips of his broken father.

"And he became everything to me. I loved him in a way that I never though I would be able to love. I loved him beyond myself, and if it had been my choice, I would have taken his place."

He gazed down at her for a moment, and Hermione's heart broke at the tears glimmering in the depths of his lost gaze.

"You asked me once if I loved Astoria."

She had, Hermione realized. A lifetime ago, it seemed, though it had only been a few months.

"I couldn't really tell you what I was feeling, not then. And even now…"

He shook his head.

"I resented her. I resented her because I loved our son so fucking much, and she…I never felt that she…"

His fists were clenched.

"She was so cold! It was our _son,_ for Merlin's sake! She treated him just like everything else in our lives! Like he was dispensable…like we could get another! If anything, he was just an accessory to a frivolous life, and so long as he didn't interfere with-"

His eyes rolled to the ceiling, to keep more tears from coming, and Draco felt bloody stupid for trying to hide his emotions from the one woman who might understand them. It was his stupid pride, whatever remnants of it that remained.

"Each day I resented her more. Any chance of us every having a real relationship had passed. I'm not…I'm not sorry."

He swallowed.

"I only miss my baby. She told me that he had the…the sniffles, and I believed her. I _believed_ her!"

He grew agitated.

"If only I had spent more time with him! I could have helped him!" he cried brokenly. "I could have held him and taken him to the hospital sooner. I could have…I-I…"

When he began to sob against her shoulder for everything that he had lost, not only with his son but the baby that she had been unknowingly carrying, Hermione was reminded of the night at the Muggle hotel. The sadness and shock she had felt the first time he fell apart in her arms.

_Now,__I __understand_.

She had mocked him. She hadn't believed that he could be afraid. That he could have lost anything. She had resented him for who he was.

But now, she understood.

He was just as lost as she was. He felt as deeply as she did. Her earlier thoughts came rushing back at her.

_They are the strong._

No, was that really the truth or what Voldemort wanted everyone to see? They were only as strong as he allowed them to be.

_They have the world at their fingertips._

But only those things that he allowed them. And even those things they had to work for. He never just gave his followers anything.

_They__ serve __a __leader__ who __controls__ everything and gives them everything__._

Yes, a man – no a creature – who controlled not just everything, but their very souls. He - a leader who gave them no real choices, and who erased conscience, destroying the possibility of love, of family, of hope and of happiness.

_They are the ones Marked._

Hermione wondered if taking the Mark was as glorious as the Death Eaters believed. Or perhaps they forced themselves to believe such a thing because the alternative was too much to bear.

_They are not ridiculed or stripped of their humanity and choices._

How true can that be when they are taken from their families, and forced to do things they not want? How can a great Ministry leave their followers empty and broken, sucking the life out of them as quickly as the Dementor's Kiss? How can they reduce a man as strong as Draco to weeping?

_And in the arms of those they hate the most? _

It wasn't fair; nothing was fair. As she held him tightly, Hermione cried tears not only for their baby but for Scorpius and for all those from whom the Ministry had taken what was most precious.

Hermione placed her hand over the one that was cradling her belly so protectively and leaned towards him, kissing the wetness of his flesh, tasting his bitter tears, the pain and the sorrow in his heart. And wishing that there was something she could do, even though she couldn't turn back time, no matter how she wanted it.

"I love you. I know you feel alone, but you're not. I'm here."

She felt the twitch of his hand, the way he slipped it into hers with complete trust.

"And we can deal with this together. As long as we have each other, we can make it through this, you'll see. They've only won if they destroy whatever hope that is left. Don't let them do that, Draco. Let me be the hope you need."

Draco pulled away, her words the most wondrous he had ever heard.

"How could there ever be hope after this?"

Hermione closed her eyes, pulling his hand and pressing it against her heart.

"Find it in me," she urged. "If there is nothing else, Draco, find it in me. I'm still here."

She clutched his hand.

"Promise me that we can try together," she whispered. "And it's all I ask."

Her eyes searched his face, and although he never opened his mouth to speak, Hermione knew that he would not leave her; she saw love in his eyes. Love like she had never known before.


	40. Chapter 40

_Thanks for waiting, everyone! And for all you support, as always. I've been busy – finishing up my short fic (which is done now) and real life (the opera season has started!) My sister also starred in the local stage production of Rocky Horror Picture Show, so I've been away from my computer a lot! But here's the next part – and Hermione and Draco's escape. Will it last? Will it be a bomb? We'll see! As always, let me know what you think – good or bad. Enjoy! P.S. - I know, you might have noticed I haven't replied to the reviews this time around. It's just that I've been so insanely swamped lately and if I did that first, it would put off posting this chapter, which I'm sure you'd all rather read anyway. :) I'll do better next time, I promise! After next week, it'll just be this story again, since I'll be done with the Halloween stuff! :) I don't appreciate you any less, I swear! :D :D  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>Chapter Forty<p>

* * *

><p>Marcus shivered, making a face. He loathed the fact that no matter how many hours he spent working with the blasted creatures, Dementors still scared the living shit out of him.<p>

The dark, floating creatures lined each side of the lowest level of the Ministry like the living, breathing symbols of hopelessness. Nothing ever prepared Marcus for the way he felt when faced with so many of them.

He stood up straight, pushing a lock of his lank, black hair from his eyes, and then swallowed, trying to relax as best as he could, though he knew the creatures wouldn't allow it. They lived and feasted on the fear of humanity, and they seemed to draw it out when they sensed it. It was just the nature of the Dementor; it was this that the Ministry used for control and annihilation.

The tenth level of the Ministry teemed with the creatures; it seemed to Marcus as if each time he came to the Ministry headquarters, there were more and more Dementors around. It was unnerving to say the least. He rather liked working with the things, really. He was good at it; it was one of the only things, besides Quidditch, that he had ever been good at. As he stared down the suddenly long hallway towards the doors that led to Courtroom Ten, Marcus' face turned up in a grimace. There was no sound but the rattling sound of the breathing of the creatures.

_I__'__m __good__ with__ them!__ How __many __others __can __say__ that?_

His worthless bitch of a mother would have been proud, although it would have been a strange thing to be proud of, his ability to control one of the vilest creatures ever to roam the earth.

Marcus sighed, stopping about halfway down the icy corridor.

No, not even being Voldemort's right hand man would have made his worthless mother proud. He wondered why he was even thinking of her at a time like this, and then decided it was because she was just like a Dementor – evil and soulless.

Marcus shivered, and his eyes shifted to the ever moving, black shadows along the walls. Once his vision focused enough he sometimes could see their long-fingered, scabby hands reaching forward, for whatever poor soul would happen into their path.

_These things can't hurt you, Marcus. Just keep walking. You know how to control them, what to do to make them obey._

He bit the inside of his lip in an attempt not to panic, for the icy feeling of fear seemed to permeate every part of him and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't like not being in control, of being afraid. Closing his eyes he continued walking towards the massive doors that seemed so far away now, the grip on his wand tightening.

He tried to think of happier times, of moments that would bring him some relief from the oppression that the creatures created. He was shitty at producing a Patronus; in fact, the only time he had ever managed to conjure anything white and silvery it had died upon creation and had done nothing to protect him from the vile creatures. Because of this, Marcus had developed his own ways of dealing with the things, and most often than not, the newfound curses he had been practicing with at Azkaban had been sufficient to ward off the things long enough for him to be able to control them. And sometimes, happy thoughts seemed to help.

Except that those were few and far between, difficult to recall.

Closing his eyes he pictured his nanny, so many years ago, feeding him porridge heavy with sugar and cream. He remembered her to be sweet and happy, so unlike his abusive, drunken father and his weak, unemotional mother. Moments with his nanny had been a respite from the neglect and pain he felt at the hands of his parents.

Then Marcus recalled happier times at Hogwarts, for the letter of acceptance had been his ticket away from his parents, and once there, never did he return home until he had to, staying at the school through the holidays and all weekends that he could. Those were good times, he knew. The lessons were a distraction from the rejection he had felt at home, and Quidditch had been the first thing Marcus recalled being good at. And then, of course, there was Pansy Parkinson.

Even at the beginning, he remembered thinking she was pretty. Not beautiful like some of the other girls with their soft laughter and delicate features, long lashes and blushing pink cheeks. No, Pansy had been pretty in a no-nonsense kind of way. Pretty, approachable, and easygoing, with a brilliant mind and a good sense of humor. She had been a girl who seemed rather loyal and determined, no matter what the situation. Marcus had liked her from the beginning, and it had been the first time in his life he remembered feeling a bit nervous and speechless, hoping he wouldn't say and do the wrong thing. By far, the feelings he remembered best had been the night she had agreed to spend an evening with him in the library, tutoring him in Charms. Marcus had been older, nearly finished at Hogwarts when Pansy had been sorted into Slytherin house her first year. Yet still, somehow, they had forged a strange relationship, and one Marcus had never forgotten. Though she had never been his girl, and he would have never been brave enough to even hope for such a thing, Pansy had made him _happy._

When he opened his eyes, the Dementors had slithered against the tall, stone walls, still hovering but somehow subdued by the aura of Marcus' thoughts. Knowing this, he hurried, almost sprinting the rest of the way as not to get caught in the icy claws of the creatures again.

"Mr. Flint?"

The voice came from the side and he saw her coming forth from the shadows, a glorious wolf shimmering at her head.

_It's her Patronus._

"Y-yes Ma'am."

Bellatrix gave him a steady gaze.

"You really ought to practice that Patronus Charm, yes? After all, it won't do to have a high-ranking official running from the Dementors?"

Her words were mocking and a smirk played on her full lips – a smirk Marcus desperately wished he could curse away. How he loathed Bellatrix! What gave a woman the right to be a bitch just because she was a beautiful, powerful witch?

"Yes, Ma'am."

She gave him a curt nod.

"Well, at any rate, we're all waiting inside, Mr. Flint."

She led the way, allowing the shimmering Patronus to ward off any of the remaining creatures that lined this side of the corridor and Marcus kept close. He hated her for she reminded him of his mother; a woman who looked down upon him for he wasn't quite as smart and capable as she had hoped.

The courtroom was one of those places that elicited fear from those that entered. The high stone walls that rose around them to a faraway ceiling made Marcus feel as if he were sitting in the bottom of a huge, stone well lit only by flickering torches of light.

He walked to the center of the room managing deep, even breaths. He sat, and looked up at the judges' balcony. There he saw Bellatrix taking a seat next to her husband, and luckily there were only a few Interrogators dressed in the tell-tale plum robes. He also noted the presence of Antonin Dolohov.

_Not good at all._

Marcus knew he wasn't on trial, and this wasn't a court proceeding, but getting in trouble with the Ministry was never something any official wanted on their record – and the worst part was that Dolohov was the kind of man who liked to dish out punishments harsher than necessary. Marcus had spent years living with a sadist; he knew the signs of such a personality. It was unfortunate for the Ministry that his father was dead – Marcus had long believed the elder Flint would have been a perfect addition to the Ministry.

Bellatrix turned to her husband and then Rodolphus gave Dolohov a nod.

"Mr. Flint," he began, and Marcus winced, the sound of the older man's voice irritating him. "We within the disciplinary committee of the Ministry of Magic believe you do not yet understand the severity of what has occurred at the alienage where you have been employed."

Marcus swallowed back a reply and only nodded. He wasn't the brightest man in the world but he knew when to keep quiet.

"The alienage in question will be shut down as of tomorrow evening. The remaining Mudbloods will be taken care of, if they haven't been already. The Dementors will be quite busy, if I do say so myself."

Marcus could only stare. He couldn't recall exactly how many people had remained at the alienage after the breakout, but he imagined the entire affair would be quite a haul as far as the Dementors were concerned. He was only sorry he wouldn't witness it.

"We cannot overlook that what happened two weeks ago could have been avoided, and all we can do is ask what happened. You, Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy were in charge. It is to you that we turn now to determine the best course of action as far as employment. It is imperative that we have only the best and most loyal working for our cause, Mr. Flint."

There was no sound from the balcony and Marcus felt like he was under intense scrutiny.

"I understand, Sir."

Dolohov leaned back, lifting up a small ream of paper and tapping it against the desk that he sat at.

"Well, then, would you care to tell me what you believed happened that night?"

"I never meant disloyalty to you or to the Lord, Sir," he began, willing his voice to remain calm. "How can we be of use to the Ministry, when the one who is in charge has allowed his mind to wander?"

Dolohov raised one black, bushy eyebrow.

"And what do you mean by that? Miss Parkinson has been well educated in her mistakes of that night, to be sure."

"It is not Miss Parkinson I have an issue with, Sir."

Bellatrix let out a strange laugh.

"Ah, so you speak of my nephew?"

Marcus' eyes flittered towards the wild-haired Bellatrix, whose gaze seemed to glow even in the dimness of the room.

"Forgive me, Ma'am for saying that he's been preoccupied lately. I've tried talking to Pansy about it, but…I suppose we've all had our worries."

The words seemed unassuming in spite of the great rage that had gripped Marcus' heart. He had no sympathies for Malfoy – none at all. In fact, he couldn't remember a time, even at Hogwarts, that he hadn't hated the bastard. And, compounded with the fact that he was the one who had Pansy's heart, well, that didn't help any.

"We are aware of the fact that Mr. Malfoy made a grave error of judgment, and that Miss Parkinson was not as vigilant as she ought to have been, but I loathe bringing the personal facet into this."

Dolohov's words were as impassive as could be; none of the men, nor the woman who sat above Marcus in the balcony seemed to care about personal feelings at all.

"I assure you, Mr. Flint that we have made certain the other parties involved have been made well aware of their grave errors in judgment. I am correct in assuming that you understand your grave mistake as well. It has cost us much. The facility, which will take months to rebuild, and of course, the nearly two dozen officials that perished in the fire and fighting against the so-called Alliance!"

For the first time, there was a sense of disgust in Dolohov's voice – a sour tone that had not been there before mixed with a touch of panic. He continued, black eyes glinting.

"We cannot afford these costly mistakes."

Somehow, Marcus felt the tone of Dolohov's voice was much too like his father's, the situation one that had not been his fault, or at least, had not bee completely in his control. He began to feel a strange weight pulling at him, and the heaviness grew, making it difficult to breathe, and causing a painful pounding at his temples. It made him twitch.

"You have made that clear, Sir," he muttered, the words difficult and cloying in his throat. "At least to _me._"

Bellatrix raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Are you saying we, as the Ministry, have been amiss in our duties?"

Marcus strained his onyx eyes towards the balcony.

"I'm not saying that," he ground out. "I'm saying that you're making a mistake by allowing Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson to be in charge!"

Once more, the woman in the room raised her eyebrow.

"And now you dare question my decisions, do you?"

Marcus swallowed.

"Something's going on with Malfoy!" he hissed. "The night of the fire, even before, with that Mudblood he's been fucking-"

"You dare use such language!"

"I told Pansy!" he exclaimed, angered by the fact that no one seemed to be taking him seriously. "That night, before the fire started, I was trying to tell her what was going on! She's so blinded! Everyone is blinded by Malfoy!"

He knew that he was starting to sound immature and petty, but something had set it off within him, and he could not stop.

"How do any of you know that he doesn't have everything to do with this?" he questioned them. "Why try to pin this on all of us when it's clear that's he coddling and protecting that stupid little Mudblood that he's being sleeping with for months and months?"

Bellatrix furrowed her brows for a moment, and then realization set in and she rolled her eyes, sniffing with disdain.

"She remains alive only for questioning! You _do_ speak of the one that was found with Malfoy?"

"Only because he's _protecting_ her from you!"

Bellatrix stood, pushing aside long, black and purple robes.

"It's no matter. She's dead as we speak. No one is left behind when we abandon the alienage."

Marcus started.

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously, it's not your business. We have taken it to the Executioners. You have nothing to fret over. The distraction, as you so put it, has been eliminated."

* * *

><p>She ran down the hallway, back towards the lifts that would take her up through the darkened bowels of the Ministry.<p>

"Expecto Patronum!"

The incantation fell from her lips, the sound dry as sandpaper, the utterance a tiny fearful squeak. It was always something she had struggled with - the Patronus Charm. A handsome mare appeared at her head, glimmering gorgeous and white, and whisking aside the Dementors to each side as she ran.

Pansy felt like she would choke on her heart.

_We have taken it to the Executioners…_

What if Draco was caught in the crossfire? What if he tried to save the Mudblood's life?

_Merlin knows I'd do anything – **anything** – to save his life if I had to! If he loves her-_

She reached the lifts, eyes filling with tears.

_He loves her. God help him! God help her!_

Minutes later she exploded onto the street, her feet pounding against wet, hard cobbled cement. No one noticed the petite, dark haired woman as she dashed from a side alley into the streets of downtown London, heading towards the alienage.

* * *

><p>Hermione's fingers trembled around the small metal cup that Draco had handed her. The substance inside burned her throat, and warmed her insides making her wince, but she drank it anyway, because of the expression on his face.<p>

The way he was looking at her.

She couldn't really deny him.

As she drank, Hermione's eyes moved to the window, where the darkness was coming quickly, the skies shifting from a heavy gray to a midnight navy color. There were no stars. Neither had spoken for a long while, Hermione moving to the small bed in the infirmary, still reeling from the loss of a child she had never known and from the weakness of her condition. Draco had taken to the single paned window in the room – the only window – and silently stared out of it. She didn't know why. She didn't know he was trying to determine his next step, where they would go now.

He knew they couldn't stay here – surely they would come soon, close everything, make it so this place no longer existed, just like the people that it had housed. Draco thought briefly to Zabini and Lavender…to all those who had gotten away. He thought of the child, Lily, picturing her eyes, so much like Harry Potter's. A twinge of something inexplicable surged within him.

_Where are they?_

For a long while, there was nothing. Draco trembled slightly each time he moved, unable to stop his body from the tiny, uncontrollable spasms that gripped him. His fingers, white from tension would tremble against the wooden frame of the window. He felt his teeth clacking together, the sound magnified in his mind. He would feel goose bumps rise up along his bruised and battered flesh. He would set his jaw to control the quavering in vain. It wasn't the cold, he knew. It was the loss of his baby. The memories of Scorpius. Draco knew that he was on an edge – a perilous edge that he was terrified to go over, because then he would be lost. They would want that, he knew. The Ministry would, as soon as they realized what was going on, and what side he had chosen.

_Where will I go? Has Zabini abandoned me to this cruel fate? _

He turned then, slowly, for he was afraid that his feet would no longer hold him up. Legs wobbling a little, he moved forward a step or two. Hermione sat on the bed, her hair spilling around her shoulders, framing a pale and yet still beautiful countenance. He gazed on her for a few moments.

_How can fate be cruel, if she is part of it?_

As if she sensed his gaze, Hermione looked up and that forever glow burned steadily in her eyes, warming his heart in spite of the threatening cold that filled him. She was his everything. His reason. And he would never allow her to be hurt, no matter what he had to do. Anything, he knew. He would do anything. Moving quickly, Draco knelt by her side, on the hard, dusty floor, reaching for the two hands that rested on her lap. Tiny hands that had cared for so many; hands that had been the blessing of every person she had deigned touch. She was the angel in the darkness. She was saving grace.

Bringing those roughed, cold hands to his lips, Draco kissed Hermione's fingers.

"I know there isn't much hope," he whispered, his eyes glowing even in the darkness. "But I do have hope in us. In you. And I'm going to protect you no matter what. You deserve that, Hermione. That, and much more."

So much more that he was terrified he would never be able to give her. He felt her arms wrap around him, and she pulled him close, so that he was pressed against her bosom tightly, her long hair tickling his face.

"I know you'll do what you have to," she whispered in response, kissing his head tenderly. He wanted to weep and clung to her that way, their bodies in an embrace, and their hands linked together completely.

"I will."

He took a deep breath.

"I'll find us a place, somewhere to go so that we'll be safe. And then we'll leave London. Merlin, we'll leave England, you'll see. Somewhere that they'll never find us."

Somewhere that the darkness would not follow, where they could have a new life. Hermione deserved at least that, and he bloody sure _needed_ that hope.

Beyond the navy darkness, the sky began to shimmer and then the first snow of the season fell with a silent splendor, making the sky glitter. His eyes watered, but even through the haze of tears he could see how beautiful it was. And for a few moments, Draco allowed himself to believe that all was beautiful, all was peaceful. He allowed the strong, steady beating of Hermione's heart so close to his lull him into a sense of calm. In that place he was lost to all pain – physical and emotional – and he forgot where he was.

_A world with her in it cannot be ugly and hopeless. They cannot erase such life and hope. Never, no matter what they try._

His fingers tightened in hers, and Draco sighed.

Hermione rested her head atop Draco's, feeling the silkiness of his hair – such beautiful hair, she mused.

_He has angelic hair. Pure, just like his intentions._

Sighing, she held him closer, always gleaning comfort from the scent of cigarettes and musk that always clung to him. Draco had the heart of an angel and the strength of all the men she had known in her life put together. How she loved him! How indelibly he had marked her! Forever his – she knew, no matter what. The world had broken her long ago, Hermione knew, and the man in her arms was the one that held all her shattered pieces and who was trying to put her together against impossible odds.

_Will it even be possible?_

Tears flooded her eyes, but Hermione didn't cry, blinking the burning away. She could see the start of a glittering snowfall beyond the tiny window and marveled at the beauty. For a few moments, all she could feel was the warmth of Draco against her body, and the beating of his heart so steady against her. It allowed her to hope that there was still beauty in the world.

_A world without him cannot be hopeless, can it? As long as he lives, so do I._

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"There is still beauty left in the world," he replied with a sigh.

Yes, there was.

The door beyond them crashed open, causing their hearts to plummet. What was next?

* * *

><p>There was something impossibly heartbreaking about seeing the man you loved in such a…starkly real embrace with someone <em>else.<em>

Pansy stood framed in the doorway of the infirmary, her heart racing violently within her. She had come as quickly as she could, apparating into the empty and fire damaged remains of what had been the alienage, running across the courtyard just as the first snow of the season had begun to fall. Unable to speak for lack of breath, she stared at the couple on the tiny bed, embracing as closely as was possible, both of them looking up at her with wide, startled eyes. They never broke apart and it was that which made the dead thing that was Pansy's heart lurch with the darkest of disappointments.

Her wand, which was raised, trembled violently.

_I should just kill them. Better it be by my hand than by the merciless Executioners. He would thank me, surely. Dying like this with the love of his-_

She gritted her teeth against the overwhelming need to destroy the scene before her, to drain the life from the man she loved and the Mudblood he had chosen.

But then she stopped, her dying heart flooded with the feelings of that morning. Once more she was reminded that she had nothing to live for if he was dead.

_I can't._

Something hot burned behind her eyes, and Pansy blinked furiously, her wand wavering for a moment.

"You have to get out of here," she rasped.

The warning was only a few words, but the gravity of them made both Hermione and Draco rise and thankfully, Pansy watched them separate, though the simplicity and the love in the embrace she had witnessed would never fade from her mind.

_Better it be that he lives and is with her than dying-_

Either way, she hated it – and _loathed_ him for not feeling what she felt. Nothing was worse than the feeling that overwhelmed her. Nothing but knowing he was dead – that, well, she couldn't live with that. Pansy made her decision.

"The Executioners," she whispered hoarsely. "They know that she-"

Her eyes moved to Hermione, and her jaw stiffened.

"They know she's alive and they're coming for her now. For both of you. Sent from the Ministry. If they aren't here now, they'll be here soon. You have to go."

She swallowed.

"_Both_ of you."

Draco's hand was tightly wrapped around Hermione's.

"You know I'd be gone if I knew where to go without them wondering, and…"

Pansy swallowed, and then gave him a shove, watching as Draco and the girl he was in love with moved out of the infirmary and into the dark, bitter, snow-laced night. She followed, her wand raised.

"Lumos."

A faint, glowing light appeared at the tip of her wand.

"There is a place," she managed to rasp out. "No one knows about it. I…"

Her eyes full of pain and fear she turned to Draco.

"I never really stopped being afraid of them," she whispered. "I hid my fear to protect whatever sanity I had left, but I never stopped being afraid. I have a place, a tiny place that they don't know about, and it's charmed in case they…"

She fished something out of her robes and handed it to Draco. He couldn't gaze at the pain in her eyes anymore, and so focused on the tiny, silver key.

"Take it," she spat. "It's a Portkey, and it'll take you where you need to go."

Draco was speechless and without another word, Pansy spun around and broke into a run, feeling hot tears burning against her icy cheeks as she let the man she loved go completely.

It was then that she heard the footsteps behind her and turning, found that he had followed, completely alone.

"Pansy," he managed. "Where will you go?"

She searched his face, unable to see much in the darkness.

"What's it matter, Draco?"

"It matters to me."

In another lifetime, and in the wild dreams that warmed her heart at night, he had spoken those very words. It was impossible to believe now that he cared for her – but Pansy felt her deadened heart warm just slightly. Her urge to run faded and she stood gazing up at him.

"It won't matter. I won't need that place."

She took a deep breath of the icy air.

"I'll tell them that I came here, saw you and made you choose. I'll tell them you chose h-her."

She broke, feeling the tears well up from within her.

"I'll tell them I had no choice but to kill you. Both of you."

Draco searched her face and saw the old determination that shone in her eyes.

"I can't…"

How could he let someone sacrifice themselves that way? Risk so much? A long time ago, in school, he had allowed her such things, had taken advantage of her in horrible ways, and now…

_I can't do it._

"That makes no sense."

"Nothing else does, either. It's this or your death. And I won't have that. I won't live in a world without knowing that you're living somewhere too. You'll be free. It's a place right along the Thames, and you'll be able to catch a boat out of there without being found out."

She shoved the key into his hand forcefully.

"Don't waste another second. Go. I don't want to see you again."

Her eyes overflowed again.

"I hate her, and I loathe you for your inability to feel what I do, but I won't have your death on my hands if I can help it."

Draco was numb from the sudden cold and the finality of her words. For a second or two, he was rooted to the spot unable to do anything but grip the key tightly in his fist. And then his arms were around her and he was holding her close, realizing that he had never held her before. It had taken this, his near death to finally realize how much she did care for him.

"Thank you," he whispered knowing that he would never be able to convey in words how much what Pansy was doing, and what she had sacrificed, meant to him. Perhaps, he'd never be given a chance to show her how grateful he was.

She fought in his embrace, feeling silly and stupid, feeling embarrassed about her own feelings, like she would never belong here, or anywhere else.

"Let me go," she whispered, her face burning from shame.

"Thank you," he managed again, his voice trembling with emotion. She fought him, refused to look at him, wiping at her stupid tears over and over again.

"Go," she ground out, pointing towards the horizon.

"Pansy-"

"Go!"

Draco knew to offer any more words would mean nothing, and with one last glance, he hurried away, swallowed by the darkness.

Pansy stood rigid, watching and waiting. She hard the howling of the wind, a strange and lonely sound coming through the burned, skeletal remains of the buildings around her. Then, she saw a flash of his angelic, white-blond hair, and watched two figures dash towards the exit of the alienage, and she could see their forms along the navy horizon before they were swallowed into nothingness by the Portkey. Then, she was truly alone, and the scalding tears burned her face. She felt pain, wondering if this was her fate because of all the horrible things she had done in her life. The one thing she wanted, she would never have. Pansy closed her eyes as a flurry of snow assaulted her face, icy and stinging against her heated flesh.

She felt alone, afraid and terribly sad – a hole gouged into her heart that would never heal.

There was nothing for several moments, but soon enough Pansy heard the tell-tale sound of popping and opened her eyes to see the Executioners advancing on her, their black robes billowing in the frigid air. Taking a huge breath, she approached them, gripping her wand.

"I didn't want to do it," she began when they stopped in front of her. "But he gave me no choice…"


	41. Chapter 41

_All the challenges are finished! I won the October 100 word challenge at live journal, and also won the Dramione Drabble challenge for my entry "When Draco Comes" (it's posted here at , too). So now, I might have more time! Thank you for all the reviews, adds, favorites and recommending me to others! It makes me smile to know people think this is good enough to recommend. In this chapter, we sort of begin our return to whatever happened to Astoria, who now happens to be the only Malfoy "alive". Warning, depictions of a sexual nature follow. Meaning, Draco gets naked. ;) Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

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><p>Chapter Forty-one<p>

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><p>Draco stood in the snowy darkness, the rushing of the Thames River behind him. The sound was distant, and echoed against the empty buildings around him. Behind him, Hermione stood wrapped in his long traveling cloak, looking small and afraid in the night shadows.<p>

When he turned, gasping from the sudden shock of being ripped away from the familiar and planted…

He wasn't sure _where_ they were, to be honest. He had been spoiled, spending most of his time in the better parts of the large city, and certainly not near to the run down, eastern parts nearest to the river. Luckily, they had apparated late enough that no one was on the streets, and the wind howled a lonely song. He still clutched the small silver key and then returned to the stoop upon which they had apparated.

It fit, just like Pansy had said it would.

_Pansy…_

Draco had a hard time holding back a sudden rush of affection for a woman he had loathed most of his life.

_She saved us!_

The door opened with a slight squeak, and the space within was dark and cold, though he quickly used his wand for illumination. There were only three tiny, boxy rooms and an even smaller bathroom. The living room held a small chair and sofa, lumpy looking and dusty from disuse. There were no tables, and no bookcase. The kitchen held a stove, a sink and some cabinets, but upon inspection all were empty and looked like they had never been used. The bedroom was the smallest, the space accommodating only a small bed with no sheets or comforters, and a tiny vanity with a cracked, dirty mirror. The closet was empty but for a few blankets and pillows. The bathroom was tiled with gray and white, the floor cracked and the sink stained with rust. The toilet looked like it would fall apart upon first touch, and so he edged by it quickly to the bathtub. It was also decorated with a plethora of rust stains, and the curtain looked gray from mold. A tiny spider rushed away at Draco's inspection of what had been its home.

Still, in spite of it all, he found himself relaxing, feeling slightly warmer. They were away! They were hidden from the Ministry, and…

_Can I trust Pansy?_

He would have to. There was no other choice, not now. Turning around, he lifted his wand and Hermione stood there in the faint light, her eyes searching the room, and then locking with his face.

She reached for his hand, a ghost of a tired smile on her face. He squeezed her fingers and took a breath, eying the spider warily.

"It's not so bad."

He realized once again how much he had taken for granted; a warm bed and a pristine house had always been a given. Guilt raged within him, for he had spent the entirety of his life in comfort and pleasure, whereas the woman at his side had known nothing but pain. He was disgusted with their surroundings, but she seemed at peace, her fingers laced with his and her eyes glowing with that inner, undying light.

_If only I deserved such adoration; if only I had done something worthy!_

She pulled on his hand gently, leading him from the bathroom to the darkened bedroom. Outside they could hear the rush of London traffic mixed with the sounds of the river beyond. The window was a strangely placed thing, looking down onto the darkened alleyway below them. All Draco could see was the brief glimmering of snowflakes as they floated down out of the heavens.

"It's been such a long day, Hermione. You've got to be exhausted," he murmured, placing a kiss to her temple. "Let me get that bathroom cleaned up and then I'll draw you a bath."

Hermione felt bereft as he let go of her hand to go towards the bathroom once more. Since their escaping the alienage, she hadn't been able to say a word; words seemed impossible for she couldn't express what she was feeling.

She moved lethargically to the small closet, pulling out the blankets and pillows they would use, and making the bed in a mechanical fashion. Only a month or two ago, she had been in Kensington each day, cleaning and practically living in a plush mansion there. She had been lucky, that was for sure.

The blankets were worn but still useable, and the sheets a bit tattered but soft and clean. She quickly fluffed the pillows as she listened to the sound of water running into the bath. It was a sound of comfort and warmth, and Hermione nearly sighed at the thought of sinking into the bathtub. She was free, and she was with Draco. What more could there be to want? Her weary heart was beating strangely within her and she was half fearful that something was about to happen that would start the hurt all over again.

_No. No, I won't think of that. If I do, I'll go nuts._

The water stopped running and she turned to see him framed in the doorway of the bathroom, the glow of the lights sending his face to the shadows.

Suddenly, she needed to hold him more than she had needed anything before.

Hermione reached, trembling fingers seeking his touch and Draco moved to embrace her, cradling her tiny body against his own solid warmth. Now his face was inches from hers, and he was nuzzling against her hair, against the skin of her cheek, his mouth barely brushing against it. His eyes closed and he sighed, his hands fumbling up along her flesh, gently pulling her forward, into his arms, as his fingers wound themselves into the confines of her long hair.

"I've never been able to resist you," he whimpered.

Hermione began to have a difficult time concentrating. A moment before, all she had wanted was her bath and some peaceful sleep and now, in his arms, her body began to swirl with darkened desire. Draco shuddered as her fingers began to play along the planes of his back. It had been weeks since the last time, and like a man starved, he forgot moment by moment what was happening and where he was. Weeks of frustration, of longing, and of dreams that left him hard, cold and hungry for her. Terrified that she would be hurt and that she would taken from him. She was too perfect, too distracting.

And pleasure was nearly an exquisite pain if you did it right, he knew. Draco knew he could replace one pain with another…he knew it was already happening, already completely out of his control.

"You're so beautiful."

He whispered his adoration against the softness of Hermione's neck, as his lips pressed against her flesh. Draco was kissing her. Hot, awkward, fumbling kisses, that were not meant to seduce but simply sought comfort. Her lips were paradise. The kisses were bitter, wet with his tears. His gaze when he looked into her eyes was tortured.

"I'm sorry…so sorry, Hermione…"

His whispers were ragged, painful.

"You mean so much to me and I've given you so little…please, forgive me…"

Hermione clung to him, only able to offer her love, and opened her mouth to offer her forgiveness.

Draco pulled away and the sound of her voice, lovingly running his hands along her hands and arms, and back up into her hair. Her dimpled cheeks turned down and she was saying something, but that voice melted into the storm of his mind and he couldn't quite understand...

He wrapped his body around hers, pressing himself against her, pulling her forward and then against the wall next to the bed, making full contact. Draco's fingers yearned to remove her clothing just as much as his lower half yearned to find that most hidden place inside her. He was all at once bold and shy. Dominant and demanding, and yet a man helpless in her arms. His kisses were apologetic, eager, shameful but hopeful. Oh, how he needed her!

His hands fluttered along the line of Hermione's skirt like birds' wings and, suddenly, she arched towards him, causing Draco's mind to completely annihilate. All logic left him; any thought was impossible. What remained was a man broken, needy, and helpless against the flood of emotion he had been keeping at bay. He laid her against the sheets, following clumsily, breaking the kiss only until she was firmly rested on the bed.

He yanked at his shirt, kicked at the shoes, one flying from the bed, the other swinging from his toe and dropping onto the floor. He was wearing black socks and his now just-socked feet ran urgently up and down her bare and warm calves and then, her thighs.

"I need you to make the pain go away," he moaned now, and shortly the words phased, changed. Without Draco's full knowledge, 'I need you to,' turned into something more primal.

"I need you," he muttered, his mouth everywhere, his hands unbuttoning the blouse she wore so that his hands could find more warm and willing flesh for his fingers to touch. His mouth began to demand more from hers and the surprise, the shock of his sensual assault gave him the advantage, causing him to groan, his tongue dueling with hers.

Hermione moaned, succumbing to him completely, melting against the bed sheets and willingly embracing him, allowing her senses to be filled with the touch, the taste, the smell of him. She couldn't hear his whispered apologies nor did she care; Hermione needed him as much as he needed her. It wasn't just that he made the pain go away, because he did. It was more than that, something basal, as if he was that dark, starved part of her that she could never fully sate. God, how she wanted him!

Tearing at the remainder of his clothing was easy, and Hermione tightened her grip on his body, her fingers scratching, pulling at him in her need, their lovemaking frantic, almost animalistic. She pushed her mouth hard against his, her teeth scraping against his and her tongue pushing deep into his mouth as if she wanted to devour him. In a way, she did. Marked by urgency, as if their moments together would end, Hermione and Draco grew frantic and hungry for each other, casting aside whatever clothing that remained, pawing, grabbing, squeezing and caressing. She bit into his shoulder and he groaned responding only by gripping her bum and pressing her yet closer to him, and she only responded enthusiastically, thrusting herself against him in her need. She was whimpering but the sound was not of pain this time, but of desire and pleasure.

Though only moments before Draco had thought himself tired, his own need startled him; he was insatiable for the woman in his arms. The moved together in the tiny bed, joined – _fused_ really – in an erotic dance, thrusting, grinding and moving in perfect harmony. Everything around them had faded away, the remnants of the broken world they lived in disappearing from existence and for a long while the only awareness was that of the other; their breathing, the whimpers, the groans, the mewling and moans of pleasure and desire.

As she arched her tiny, graceful body up to meet his, Hermione uttered the first word since leaving the alienage.

"Yes."

It was throaty, thick with passion and desire, nearly a moan deep in her throat.

"Yes."

It was not just a yes to the sudden, shattering orgasm that overtook her, but a yes to life. A yes to the fact that she had found love in a loveless world, and hope to awaken her deadened heart, and even a tiny fraction of joy in the face of despair. Their frantic and passionate lovemaking was a strange slap in the face of the Ministry; a silent defiance of the attempt to destroy any remnant of joy and love that was left in the world. Together, they could be happy. Together, no one could destroy the peace they had found.

Draco groaned against her hot, sweaty neck.

"Yes," he moaned, spilling himself into her, gripping her shoulders tightly as waves of orgasm washed over him. He tensed and then fell limp against her, their spent and heated bodies entwined on the bed beneath them.

Hermione held him tenderly, running her fingers through his messy hair and along the dewy skin of his neck and back allowing herself to enjoy his closeness. She kissed along his chest, the crook of his shoulder and up along his fevered neck, reveling in the silken feeling of his flesh.

"I love you."

The words were whispered against his ear.

"I forgive you."

She had, Hermione knew, forgiven him long ago and had never taken offense to any of the things he felt sorry for. Draco pulled away, a sigh escaping him as he gazed on her. She looked back with sleepy-eyed contentment. This is how he wished she would always feel; he wanted her to be loved and satisfied for she deserved at least that, and much, much more. Sated and feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, Draco shifted and pulled the thin blanket over their bodies, pulling her close so that he could breathe in the comforting scent that clung to her hair. She was like a drug to him and he couldn't seem to ever get enough.

Just as he thought he would drop off into a much needed rest, he heard her speak.

"What was your son like?"

It had been years since anyone had asked him about Scorpius and for a few seconds Draco was taken aback and could not reply. She shifted in his arms and he felt her eyes on him. He swallowed, finding it difficult to even think of his son let alone…talk about him.

"He was…a happy baby," he managed, although his voice cracked a bit. "It was rather surprising as I know I was quite bad-tempered, or so my father had always told me."

Hermione smirked a bit just as Draco turned his head on the pillow to gaze down on her.

"He had the most beautiful smile," he whispered. "No matter what I was going through, it never failed to remind me of how lucky I was."

Hermione reached up to brush a tear from Draco's face, which was still blooming with color from their lovemaking.

"He was lucky too."

Her reminder was gentle and it made him smile. Hermione wondered if Draco would ever truly know how much his smile meant to her.

"He looked like his mother," he continued. "But he had my eyes. When he was born and they brought him to my parents, it was the first thing my father said. That the baby had Malfoy eyes."

Hermione would never meet Scorpius, but she knew without a doubt that the child would have been incredibly perfect. Astoria was unquestionably beautiful, and Draco possessed eyes that were nearly as bewitching as the magic that he wove with his wand.

"He would have been a handsome little boy," she found herself murmuring as she laid her head against his sturdy chest.

"And smart."

"Undoubtedly so, though I don't think he would have gotten _that_ from his mother."

Draco chuckled though it was short-lived. His fingers slipped along her silky, warm skin and found themselves resting along Hermione's flat belly. The loss he felt was suddenly so poignant, his eyes watered.

_Our child would have been brilliant. _

"I'm sure you were a great father. But it just wasn't our time, Draco."

He turned his head towards her once more and she was gazing up at him solemnly, clearly having read his thoughts. He arched one eyebrow.

"It's hard to accept that. A part of me…feels as if my second chance was torn from me even before I knew I _had_it."

Her hand covered his.

"It just wasn't meant to be. But I think one day…"

"Do you?"

"I do," she said firmly, and then she laced her fingers through his, bringing his hand up to her lips.

"This," she said squeezing his hand, "was supposed to happen. I would never have dreamed it, but us coming together in such a way as we did…it isn't chance. I believe in fate. And I believe that we'll make it through whatever is coming and at the end of it…"

Draco leaned down to kiss her just as he closed his eyes. When they pulled apart, he tipped her chin up very gently.

"I hope that they all look like you. I want beautiful babies with your eyes, your hair and most especially your smile."

He gloried in her blush and the unadulterated sound of her giggle.

"Our boys would look silly, don't you think?" she whispered, leaning up to nuzzle against him.

"I'd give them haircuts," he replied with a wink. She sighed and stole a kiss from the corner of his mouth.

"I want a little boy, Draco. He'll be just like the son you had and I want him to learn to be just like you. I want him to have your strength and courage and the intelligence to help him be compassionate and know how to love in every situation."

Draco frowned.

"That's not me, and you know it," he replied with regret and sadness.

"I disagree. You'll just have to accept that."

There was a firm edge to her voice and with that she snuggled up against him contentedly, hoping eventually Draco would understand the depth of feeling she had for him. Even if it took a hundred years, she was willing to show him.

For a while, there was silence, and then she spoke.

"One day when we're gray and old, and everything works out for us, I'm going to want to see pictures of Scorpius," She murmured.

"When we're gray and old, you say?"

"Just reminding you of the fact that you're stuck with me."

"And happily so."

His words were light, but Draco suddenly though of the darkened Kensington mansion and wondered if he could get his photographs back; if he could even face Astoria again. Amidst all the tumult in his life, he had forgotten his wife.

* * *

><p>Pansy couldn't quite look at Bellatrix. The room was stuffy and she nearly buckled under the weight of the scrutiny around her.<p>

"You killed my nephew?"

The words were clipped and the most frightening thing was that Pansy couldn't read their intent. Oh, she knew there would be punishment for her actions; there were always punishments for every action the Ministry found to be out of sorts with their beliefs. Pansy only hoped that this one would be mild.

_Let them buy my lies. Please, if there's a savior, let them believe me!_

She sent up a prayer that she knew would be unheard; God didn't listen to those who had long turned from him.

"You found her alone?"

The question was to the group of Executioners whom had brought Pansy back to the Ministry after finding her at the empty alienage.

"Yes," said one, his voice muffled by the hood that he had refused to remove even the presence of the highest ranking Ministry officials. "She came to us just as we arrived…to eliminate those remaining at the alienage."

Pansy shifted from one foot to another, feeling her throat constricting so tightly it was impossible to breathe.

"I told you," she said, trembling. "I didn't have a choice!"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Pansy hoped that they were convincing enough, for she would never cry over Draco Malfoy. At least she didn't want anyone to _know_such a thing.

"He was with that…Mudblood! And I told him what- what he was doing was disgusting, the most loathsome, _heinous_ thing he could do, but he just laughed at me and then…he threatened me. I told him I would come to you," she continued plaintively, "but he just kept on laughing, and I…"

She played the role of a woman torn and scorned, hoping that it would be enough to convince Bellatrix.

_What if she cares? What if Draco meant something to her? Lord, I-_

"And what made you take your wand to him?" Bellatrix asked coldly, her eyes two black, glittering gems.

"I…"

Pansy swallowed.

"I told him it would be him against the Ministry and that I would go and tell, and he…he said he'd never allow it and…he used an Unforgivable on me! What was I supposed to do? I've never-"

Bellatrix let out a peal of scornful laughter.

"Love!" she mocked. "Such a foolish emotion!"

She waved off the situation as if it was trivial and it took everything Pansy had not to fidget, or to give away her disgust and shock. Bellatrix shook her head, watching Pansy with amusement.

"And bigger the fool who falls for such a distracting emotion," she continued. "See how he has paid for it? Stupid boy," she spat. "I always did wonder how Lucius had raised a son who was nothing like him."

Turning back to Pansy she dismissed her with a wave.

"You may go. One less thing to worry about. At least the alienage is free and clear. We can start to rebuild."

Pansy watched, eyes wide as the woman turned, her long robes sweeping along the marbled ground. She was strangely aware in that moment how cold and soulless the organization that she worked for really was. They didn't care; they didn't even pretend to care. Had Draco been dead, he would have been the last surviving member of the Malfoy family besides Astoria, and Bellatrix had hardly batted an eye at such a thing, interested only in furthering her agenda. Faced with the loss of a family member and of one of the more capable officials within the Ministry had shaken nothing within her.

_And this is the woman I've emulated for so long? This is what I've wanted to become?_

Pansy thought once she got home she would smash all the mirrors in her flat; she was so ashamed of her life that she didn't believe she'd ever be able to look at herself again. She listened as Bellatrix's footsteps grew softer as she moved towards the exit of the courtroom and paused at the two wooden doors, turning gracefully.

"Do you plan on standing there all day?" she questioned. "There's work to be done, you know."

Pansy began to move, the response in her automatic. Working within the Ministry had programmed her with a certain response. This time, however, something was different. She stopped, watching her boss.

"Won't you bury him?"

"What?"

"Draco. Won't you bury him? He's your family."

Pansy couldn't help the strange edge that had crept into her voice. It was a mixture of pain and bewilderment mixed with shock. Shock at how casually Bellatrix had handled the news of her nephew's death, and how unfeeling she seemed to be.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, regarding Pansy with an unattached curiosity.

"If you're that hell bent on burying him, then you do it."

Then she turned and walked briskly from the courtroom, leaving Pansy alone.

* * *

><p>Marcus had always loved watching Pansy; he remembered days in the Great Hall and nights in the common room and the library at Hogwarts. He had never been the brightest pupil, but he had been good at observing. Spending tons of his free time watching Pansy, Marcus had learned from her silences, from her facial expressions and the way she held herself. He had learned much more from the way she acted than from the things she spoke. He had learned that although she put on a strong front, Pansy felt things deeply and she hid those things from the world, and only those who chose to really look could see them.<p>

And now, he could tell Pansy was devastated. She stood straight and tall, her eyes dull and her expression unreadable to all those but Marcus. He knew. He could see the look in her eyes, veiled thinly by a wall of nothing. He could see the stiffness in her body, as if she were poised to break. And her lip trembled, if only just a fraction missed by most.

Yes, she was devastated, and a part of Marcus felt…cheated. It was despair over Malfoy's death; it was a death that she should have taken in stride, just like the deaths of all those that had gone before him. Deaths even by her unwavering, ruthless hand. Here stood a woman who had been unbreakable for all the years Marcus had known him and it had taken the death of one man to shake her.

_I hated him. And I respected him. And I loathed him._

His thoughts were dark and angry, swirled with jealousy and frustration. Without thinking he moved towards Pansy. She had always made him feel better and he sought the comfort, forgetting for a moment the grief that she was in as well.

"I'm sorry."

The words sounded so stupid in Marcus's ears. Cheap, almost, but it couldn't be helped. Pansy looked up at him her beautiful eyes unfocused for a few moments before anger and hatred sharpened them.

"You!" she hissed. "Get the hell out of my way! I don't need or want your sympathy!"

Marcus felt himself being pushed backwards by the brunt of her anger, just like she had done in her flat the month before. He felt the same swirling of anger, resentment and once more he felt stupid, like he wasn't ever going to be good enough.

"I'm only trying to help," he spat. "I can see that you're upset-"

"Shut up!"

Rage infused each of her words as she turned, advancing on him.

"Your words mean nothing to me; you're as cruel and heartless as the rest of his Ministry!"

It was a realization that both had known for a long time, and both had been tangled up in for years.

"And now that he's dead and you can afford your fake sympathy you think I'll accept it? You're a disgusting, worthless fool, Marcus Flint, and I wish I had never met you!"

Strange, long-lost feelings washed over him as she stared at the furious woman before him. He recalled the way his father had raged at him every night, calling him names, treating him like the rubbish, and the fact that she was calling him all those names his father did was not lost on Marcus.

"I was going to help you with the funeral, you stupid bitch!"

"I wouldn't take your help if it meant my life! I'd rather die!"

"I hope you do!" he hissed back, his anger fueled by heartbreak and disappointment. She was shaking when she turned around, her voice clear.

"Leave me alone."

Without another word, Pansy raced out of the courtroom, moving with unusual speed for she was not a woman taken to hurry. Marcus waited only a fraction of a second before following her. This was no unusual; he had followed her many times in the past, both in school and then afterwards.

This time it was different however; this time, he knew something was not right with Pansy. The grief and sadness that had been evident in her eyes and her voice were underscored by something more. Something that led Marcus to believe that all was not as it should have been. That was what years of watching Pansy Parkinson got you – he knew she was lying about what had happened at the alienage.

_You think you've got it all together, don't you? Not even close._

He waited until she left the Headquarters and hit the snow-riddled streets of London proper. Then, he moved after her, keeping always a good distance but never letting her out of his sight. He hoped she wouldn't apparate; most of the time, she didn't, opting instead to blend in with the rest of humanity.

Luck was on his side. He watched with interest as she headed quickly towards Kensington, and he followed.


	42. Chapter 42

_I apologize firstly for my sudden MIA status. Unfortunately, that's my life right now and I can't promise updates as frequently as before, so I won't. I'll try to write as I can and post when possible. The new position at work and real-life has cut into my writing time drastically. But I still continue this, albeit slowly. Having said that, thanks guys! Here's the next installment. There's a twist here with Astoria that I don't think anyone will have seen coming. Guess what it might be!_

_LCailan_

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><p>Chapter Forty-Two<p>

* * *

><p>The room was shadowed for she had drawn the curtains, cutting herself off from the rest of the world. The heavy material muffled the busy sounds of Kensington Street, and in her bedroom, Astoria Malfoy held a small tube of lipstick, applying it to her perfect cupid-bow's mouth with a steady hand.<p>

She hadn't seen her husband in over a month. In fact, she hadn't taken a visitor in that long a time as well, venturing only within the neighborhood most of the time. The last time she had seen anyone had been in the small tea shop the day she and that cow Pansy Parkinson had made their deal regarding Draco. Astoria rolled her eyes realizing again how miserably Pansy had failed in holding up her end of said bargain.

_I wonder why she wants to see me…_

She put down the makeup and stared at herself critically in the large, ornate mirror that took up a significant amount of the wall opposite the huge bed she had shared with her cold, hateful husband.

The woman that gazed back was perfectly beautiful. Her hair fell down her back in a shiny, thick cascade and her face was impeccably accented with the most expensive of makeup. Even in the shadowed room her eyes glowed brightly. She only let others see what she wanted them to see, and, satisfied with her appearance, Astoria moved to the large closet to choose her clothing for the day. She wasn't upset neither about having to live alone nor about Draco's obvious abandonment of her. What needled at her the most was how she had let herself go physically. It had been over a week since she had actually worn something from her closet opting instead to spend her days lounging around in her drawers and a long, silky robe.

She rifled through her many garments to find a suitable outfit, one that would not betray the thin cracks in her outwardly appearance. Pulling out a mint green and white dress, Astoria finished getting ready for her day, leaving the room only moments before the sound of knocking echoed through the front foyer.

When she opened the door, Pansy Parkinson stood beneath the wide, shadowed porch, her dark eyes wide and framed with heavy lines of weariness. The silence was only broken by the howling of the coming winter wind.

"Can I come in?"

Tension loomed between the two women but Astoria allowed Pansy to pass.

_She looks hideous. That Ministry is destroying everything it touches!_

Once the door was shut, Astoria moved towards the large living room, keenly aware of the fact that Pansy's footsteps sounded louder than they should have along the pristine, polished wood floor.

"I take it you have news of my husband's infidelity?"

She paused, not turning.

"I can't imagine that it would be good news, yes? I haven't seen him in over a month."

She ran her fingers casually over the dark, wood mantle on the far side of the room, working hard to keep her voice casual. But Pansy's reply shattered her act.

"Your husband is dead."

Astoria whirled on the other woman.

"If this is a lie to cover up the inability to hold up your end of our bargain, so help me God I'll-"

Something about the utter broken quality in Pansy's gaze caused Astoria's words to weaken and fade altogether, her beautiful face flushed with anger and then paling with realization.

Pansy's white face was painted with hatred she didn't bother to hide.

"And why would I lie about something like this, you stupid bint?" she hissed.

"You dare call me names in my own home?" she challenged.

"A home that you hardly deserved," sneered Pansy. "And I don't give a damn any longer what you think or how you feel, Astoria. You were never good enough and you know what? He _was_ unfaithful. He never loved you."

Her violet eyes had narrowed and in them shone triumph and heartbreak. It wasn't as if Pansy felt sorry for Astoria; she didn't. She hated the woman with the heat of a thousand suns. Astoria was Draco's wife – it didn't matter that the marriage had never been real; still, she had been his wife. She had slept in a bed with him, bore him a son and taken his name. She had taken for granted all those things that Pansy had wanted and been painfully denied. Astoria had never loved Draco; Pansy had loved him beyond her own understanding. And yet…

Astoria was smirking.

"You think I feel wounded that my own husband doesn't love me?" she scoffed. "I wished I felt sorry for you, Parkinson. But I don't. You're a hateful woman who'll never stop being jealous and resentful of the things that I got and you never deserved. Hate me all you want, but he was my husband and you never meant anything to him."

Pansy swallowed thinking back to the night and the way she had felt for those few, all too brief moments in Draco's arms. She felt a surge of love all over again and clung to the hope that even though she had never been married to Draco that he cared for her more than he had ever cared for his wife. She wanted to say those words, but did not dare betray him.

Astoria was watching Pansy and there was a sudden, calculating flash in the vast depth of her expressive eyes.

"It was the Ministry, wasn't it? I loathe that organization, what it stands for and everyone involved in it. I told him over and over that he ought to quit."

She studied a perfectly manicured fingernail for a moment, the pink lacquer looking much too garish under the circumstances. Pansy took a breath.

"You could say that."

Her words were roughened by the hand of emotion though she tried not to show it. Astoria glanced up once more, casually assessing the other woman.

"What's that supposed to mean, Parkinson? Unfortunately I don't possess a prevaricating nature so just spit it out or don't."

Pansy snorted.

"I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"

Prevarication would require a brain and Pansy wasn't quite sure if that was something Astoria possessed or not.

"Either tell me or get out of my home."

There was a hard silence and then Pansy offered a smile.

"He was cheating on you with the Mudblood, you know," she said in a voice that was as poisonous as it was sugar-laced. "That bushy-haired one that worked for you. Fancy having her under your roof for so many months and never knowing that they were probably fucking in your bed."

She offered a ghost of a smile.

"How does that make you feel, Astoria? Knowing that you weren't good enough, not even in all your finery and your pristine family and blood line? He still preferred bedding a filthy Mudblood. Did you know that he told me he was in love with her?"

The words hit where Pansy wanted them to; Astoria blanched, looking more like a porcelain doll now than a living, breathing woman. Her dark eyes were round.

"I knew it," she hissed from behind clenched teeth. "Disgusting, worthless whore. I'll show her."

Pansy grinned.

"You don't have to. I already did. He made me do it, you know. It was my life or his. And he sided with _her._I threatened to go to the Ministry and he…well, there was a lot of pain._"_

Astoria stopped, watching Pansy quizzically.

"He's dead because of you?"

"Both of them are dead."

The strangest thing was that instead of being shocked, Astoria began to laugh. She threw her head back and the sound filled the cold emptiness. Pansy couldn't remember the last time that laughter actually held any joy and this was no exception. The laughter was devoid of emotion. It was simply a sound – both grating and cold.

"You?" she managed to say when her laughter had died down a bit.

"I told you," replied Pansy in a pronounced way. "I had no choice. I caught them together and when I told him I'd go to the Ministry he threatened me."

Pansy's eyes flashed with hatred; it was easy to muster the emotion for she still felt herself in the grip of love and hatred when it came to Draco. And anger…always anger most of all.

"He tied my hands, really. I had to defend myself, and I did."

The smugness of her tone was the last thing that died in the stillness. At first Astoria wore a look of mild interest though beneath that, confusion was evident. Then the sneer formed on her lips.

"You really are a crazy bitch, aren't you? You killed him because he didn't want you? It wasn't enough that you cost Zabini his job and kidnapped a little girl that wasn't yours to try and get Draco to love you? In the end you had to kill him?"

Pansy saw a brilliant and burning red and it caused her to be speechless with wrath. Though she knew to keep Draco safe she had to keep up her end of the façade, it was becoming harder and harder to do so.

"Sod off, Astoria. What do you know anyway?"

"You mean besides the fact that you're desperate, pathetic and insane?"

She smirked.

"You really did do everything you could to ruin his life, didn't you? I told him the Ministry would destroy him sooner or later."

"And now he's dead."

"More's the pity. He should have listened to me."

Pansy was cognizant once more how cold and cruel the world had become. This woman, Draco's _wife,_was showing little if no concern or care over his supposed death. It was beyond unfeeling as was the blank look in Astoria's black eyes.

"It is up to…us-you to…bury him."

She could not hide the stumble she had made and for a moment Astoria only stared and then she laughed once more.

"Don't you worry yourself about his burial. I'm his wife, am I not? I'll take care of it."

The words were a mockery of concern and sweetness, for Astoria meant not to comfort but to remind Pansy that she would not allow her to be at Draco's funeral. Speechless, Pansy felt a sudden rush of burning behind her eyes and was glad that Draco was not truly dead.

_If I weren't allowed to share in those last few moments…_

She chose not to think about it and instead shook her head.

"You do as you wish. I only came to tell you the news."

Astoria wondered at Pansy's seeming calm and the way those dark eyes remained emotionless. It irritated her for she would have seen the other woman fall apart before her and taken great pleasure from it. The news of Draco's death settled a cold and slimy heaviness on her conscience. Turning from Pansy, she trained her eyes at the window and beyond it where the street was covered in a fine powder of snow.

It wasn't as if she had ever cared for her husband, was it? He was just inevitability in a life that had never been hers – just another pointless choice she had not been allowed to make. Nothing in her life had ever been her choice and so it had also been with her choice of a mate. She had not loved Draco; she still did not love him. And so it seemed impossible for Astoria to understand how a woman who felt nothing for her husband was supposed to live out the entirety of her life with him.

As it was, she had resented Draco and therefore, their son.

Still thinking about the little boy who had now been gone for years stirred something in Astoria's cold heart; she hated that something for more than likely it was guilt and she hated guilt more than any other emotion. She had not been a good mother and for a long time she had blamed others for that fact. How was she supposed to be a good mother if she had never wanted children? Shouldn't it have been her choice to be married and to bear offspring? Why had someone else made those decisions for her?

Yes, Draco had come from an impeccable family. Very few families were lauded like the Malfoys. Very few wizards could trace their bloodline as far back as Draco could and very few could sit as comfortably as he had within the Ministry simply because of who his father had been.

In some way Draco's position and money had been warranted and in others he had simply gotten lucky. As far as Astoria was concerned however…none of that had mattered. As she took her next breath, something began to burn within her.

"Go ahead," she whispered.

"What?"

Astoria felt her heart pounding in her ears; it was a steady, heavy thumping.

"Go ahead and bury him."

There was no sound from behind her but Astoria would not turn to face Pansy. She couldn't look into the face of the woman who felt what she should have! It was madness.

"You want me to take care of it?"

Pansy's voice rang out with skepticism and uncertainty and it only fueled Astoria's anger. Tears threatening her, she waved her hand wildly behind her.

"Do it, I don't care. Do what you must and leave me be!"

"But-"

"Fuck off, Pansy!" shrieked Astoria, gripping the edge of the parapet of her living room window. Her face was white and her jaw set. "You're the one that's been blathering on for years about how much you love him! You killed him so now bury him!"

She whirled then to face the other woman, her eyes wide with unbridled fury and frustration.

"You killed him and yet you loved him!" she spat. "What kind of love is that? Prove that you loved him, why don't you? Give him a funeral proper for a man of his position if you gave such a damn about him! I don't care! Don't you see…I never cared! You wanted him all this time and you should have had him. It wouldn't have made a difference to either of us!"

Pansy's face was once more unreadable though the tumult of emotions raged just under the calm exterior. How unfair life was! How this woman hated the same man that she had always loved and yet she had been blessed to have him! She had never appreciated what Pansy had wanted all her life!

"Fine," she spat, her eyes snapping with hatred. "I don't understand you, but fine."

"You don't have to!" shrieked Astoria, wanting to laugh at the bitter irony but unable to feel anything more than the raging fire that was consuming her from the inside. Sadly she realized that white-hot anger and the darkened resentment were the only emotions she felt passionately towards her now deceased husband. Had there ever been affection, however mild? Had there been a bit of compassion?

No.

No, there had been nothing. She had felt trapped and completely alone; her family and those she had loved had shunned her complaints and refusal to marry so quickly after finishing school. None of them had cared; they had all wanted her to do what was proper. And yet, before her stood a woman who had never been subject to such control. In fact, Astoria would have bet that Pansy Parkinson had never allowed anyone to control her! She had left school and climbed the ladder within the Ministry. What pain could she possibly believe was deeper than not living your own life?

She did understand one thing, however. She understood the feeling of unrequited love and the pain that it wrought. That Astoria understood. And in that she saw the sad irony of her situation and how Pansy played into it.

"You won't understand," she said then, her voice choked. "But you'd know better how to show respect than I would. I never loved the man the way you did."

No, she had not loved Draco.

But that hadn't stopped her heart from loving another.

* * *

><p><em>WERA hideout<em>

Sometimes tragedy becomes a reminder of the beauty still left in the world, Luna Scamander had decided a long time ago. It was one of those beliefs that she had which helped her get through each gray and hopeless day that she had been forced to face since the Ministry had fallen to Voldemort.

Though the loss of yet a few more souls within the Alliance, the death of one of the twins who had been Luna's dearest friends, and the fact that sweet Justin was dead now, she could still see evidence of the beauty that surrounded her and the others that remained within WERA.

With yet another holiday approaching them, most likely a sad one just as always, Luna could see a glimmer of hope in the eyes of her companions. She could nearly see the hints of smiles on trembling lips, the sound of happiness in hushed voices. And of course there was the joy of reunion; Ginny with her sons and Lily with her brothers. Not to mention her own twin sons with Ginny's youngest daughter. And of course, Blaise had been tearfully reunited with Lavender, and both parents with their baby daughter. That had been more beautiful to Luna than everything else put together. Too see joy in Blaise's dark eyes which had been full of sadness for so long was a blessing indeed.

The Alliance spent the weeks following the attack on the eastern alienage mourning those who had died. Luckily for them, there were few casualties. The truth was that their endeavors that night had been incredibly fruitful, no matter the casualties wrought. Counting Ginny, Lavender and the children, over half of the Muggle-borns living in the alienage had escaped, and the Alliance was sure that some others had also made an escape, though their whereabouts were unknown. It had been the first major victory against the Ministry and that, in and of itself, was something to be joyful about.

The victory brought smiles to tired and weathered faces. It had given Minerva something to be happy about; it had brought peace to Filius' heart. Dean had gone about his way joking and laughing more than usual and the sparkle in Seamus' eyes had returned once again. There was no denying that for the first time in months the mood had lightened around them significantly. Hope was on the horizon.

But even in the face of hope, Luna feared what was brewing just below the surface. Surely the Ministry was onto them now. Surely someone had recognized them and knew where they had gone. And of course, close to Luna's heart and to the hearts of the others, or so she hoped, was the fact that Hermione was not with them.

Where had she gone? Was she still alive and did anyone know for sure? Luna had asked no one hoping that someone would volunteer forth information but no one had. She was certain that only few, if any, knew what had happened that fiery night. One of those people was Lavender Brown, but just as none of the others had mentioned it, Luna was aware that Lavender had done nothing but two things since being rescued from the alienage. She refused to speak and she refused to relinquish possession of her daughter to anyone but Blaise. None of them could get anything from her and when she did speak during moments that were few and far between, her voice was embittered, dark and husky from disuse and the tell-tale sign of too much cigarette smoke. She was no longer the girl that Luna remembered from school but then again, none of them were what they had been. In spite of having been rescued from the hell of captivity, Lavender harbored no hope at all.

As the Alliance began to build momentum, gaining confidence from the success of the night they had helped nearly all of the Muggle-borns escape Draco Malfoy's alienage, many of them were aware that things were not all right with Lavender or Blaise. As each day passed both seemed sucked into a shadowed vortex where only they themselves and their daughter existed and where one was, the other could be found. No one questioned such behavior at first for death often made one cherish those closest to them but after awhile Luna began to be troubled by the fact that Lavender acknowledged no one but Blaise and it seemed more and more like the couple was no longer aware of anything going on around them.

Perhaps no one questioned it because in some ways it was understandable.

But it didn't help to abate Luna's concerns and on one cold, winter morning it was what she was thinking about as she washed the dishes from breakfast. The door opened behind her and Ginny walked in.

"The same?" Luna questioned.

"Yes," replied Ginny. "I don't even think Blaise knew I was in the room with them and they certainly said nothing to the others in the room."

"It's strange, isn't it?"

Ginny looked sad for a moment.

"Maybe, but I get it, you know?"

Her mind wandered with fondness over the memories of Harry and she wasn't able to say without any doubt that she wouldn't have acted the same were she in Lavender's place.

"It's trauma," she whispered.

"But it's not healthy," Luna replied, speaking her worry aloud. "She's been through so much; we all have. We talk to each other and she needs to get it out…"

The thought of that sad, broken face flashed across Luna's mind once again as she finished the dishes, putting aside the small rag she had been using. Turning to Ginny she took a breath.

"What happened that night?"

Ginny averted her gaze as Luna pressed on.

"Where did Hermione go? Why hasn't anyone spoken of her?"

The silence a deafening and uncomfortable one and although Luna willed Ginny turn to look at her, the red-haired woman did not, opting instead to gaze out of the far window in the small kitchen.

It bothered Ginny more than she could put into words; it bothered her thinking of that night and the way Hermione had turned away from her closest friends and…

_My children! She turned away from me and my children and chose to risk her life for what? For that…that…_

Her fingers tightened involuntarily, a motion that was almost indiscernible to the casual spectator. But Ginny felt flooded with loathing for Malfoy…in spite of the good he had done for Hermione.

_He was more important to her than I was! Than everything that we had gone through! She was supposed to be here! She was supposed to be leaving England with me and what's left of our family! She's a Weasley! How could she…?_

Tears burned Ginny's vision and all the months past flashed before her eyes. The pain that Hermione had gone through, the tortures the Ministry had forced her to endure, the jeers, the mocking the hunger the pain…the degradation.

_He was just like the rest of them, wasn't he? How could any good be found in him?_

"Where is she, Ginny?"

Luna's insistence broke Ginny's growing agitation and she nearly groaned before she stopped herself.

"She chose to stay behind, Luna," was her calm, measured response. Behind her she could hear the exasperated sound of Luna's sigh. This was why no one had spoken of it; this was why it was best kept between the people who had witnessed Hermione's abandonment of those who cared about her. Because Luna would ask too many questions and Ginny wasn't ready to rip open those fresh, aching wounds just yet.

"I don't understand why she'd do that!"

"I don't either, but she did. It was her choice."

"Where did she go?"

It would have been fine to turn and face Luna, to tell her the truth and to cast Hermione into a bad light but somehow, Ginny couldn't bring herself to do that and so she took in a shaking breath. Luna had never known what Hermione had been through; she had not known the sacrifices that had been made and how Draco Malfoy had been involved. It was best now that she never know.

"I don't know," she lied.

The silence fell between them and they could hear the muffled sound of the children in the other room.

As she took in another breath feeling guilty about lying to Luna the other woman made her forget the guilt.

"How could you abandon her like that? After everything that this Alliance is doing and everything that we are fighting for?"

Something in Luna's plaintive, aching tone made Ginny snap inside and whirling on her friend, the red-haired witch advanced with menace.

"Don't you ever say that again," she hissed, tears springing into her brown eyes and running down her face. They burned the way tears should never have burned.

Luna blanched.

"G-Ginny, I'm sorry…it's-it's not how I meant it! I know you wouldn't abandon her. I'm just...it's just frustration-"

"Don't you dare accuse me of abandoning her! I told you, it was her choice! You can't force someone to do something they don't _want!_ Don't you see? She didn't _want_ this!"

With that, Ginny fled the room, swiping at her tears of loss and pain. Luna was left standing in bewilderment. But she was not a woman prone to helplessness and she quickly rushed through the opposite doorway, heading towards her next destination.

* * *

><p>Blaise realized that he had been acting like a right, oblivious arse the weeks after rescuing Lavender from Malfoy's alienage. In some ways he was cognizant of his own strange behavior and in other ways he was helpless to be any other way.<p>

He had finally been reunited with the one woman who had made his dismal existence worth living. Once more he had been in her presence, familiarized with her warm, gentle embrace and touched again by the warmth that she had always been able to create with just her smile. He had dreamed too many cold, empty dreams of holding her, hopeless that it would ever come to pass. And then, finally, she had been in his arms again soft and small, her beautiful eyes trembling with tears, and her full mouth whispering love that she had never stopped feeling for him even in their worst moments, that night in the flat when he had run out on her in fear and anger.

They were together again, reunited. Just the two of them and the product of the love that had been so forbidden and disgusting in the eyes of the new Ministry. There had been nothing to compare to the moment that Lavender had once more gazed upon her daughter. There had been nothing to describe the joy and love he had seen in her eyes and thus felt reflected in his heart.

And as Luna Scamander stared at him with accusing, blue-gray eyes, Blaise knew he would never give up what he had just found. No matter what.

"If we aren't united in this, then what do we have?" she was saying, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Blaise had instructed Lavender to go to their room and take Daisy with her; it was a strange thing he knew, but somehow he refused to let anyone else near his little family. It was what it was.

"I never said we weren't united!"

"Then what happened to Hermione? Why did anyone allow her to abandon us? What if something happens-"

He lifted up his hand to interrupt, his face a blank slate apart from eyes that snapped with barely contained anxiousness and irritation. He didn't want this, not now. He wanted to be alone again and with his family.

"Nothing will," he replied and for a moment his thoughts turned to Draco Malfoy, wherever he was.

He, too, was with the woman he loved even if the Ministry had denied him that. He hadn't seen the other man for weeks now; he hadn't seen him since fleeing the alienage and never looking back. Blaise wondered if that made him a traitor; he had gotten his family and hadn't thought about anything since.

"And how do you know that?" demanded Luna, her eyes widening. "She's been missing for weeks and what about Draco? Without him where would we be? He's been contacting us this past week and you haven't done a thing to try and reach him!"

Blaise stood, unmoving. Reaching Draco would mean going back, facing the city and possible capture by the Ministry. Before being reunited with Lavender that had seemed like nothing; but now, Blaise had his family and he refused…simply _refused_ to put that into jeopardy. He had nearly lost it all once, he would not do it again.

"It…is complicated."

Luna's eyes narrowed and she saw right through his words.

"No, it's not. It's you being _selfish.__"_

This time, it was she who left the room, fleeing quickly, wanting to be away from the hideout, away from these people around her who were seemingly happy but whose facades were slowly cracking under the pressure and the unknown that they were facing.

_How can we win this war if we can't come together?_

Nothing answered her.


	43. Chapter 43

_Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hopefully you can all enjoy time off from school, work, or whatever stuff you usually do and don't want to be doing on a holiday. ;) This next chapter was really fun to write so I hope you enjoy it. I introduce a few "new" faces and give a bit more background on Astoria's situation. Plus, there's Dramione at the end. I hope you enjoy it and thanks so much as always!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FORTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p>The single, gold galleon was clutched in the palm of his sweaty hand as Blaise stood within the protection of a central London park, his eyes sharp as he looked from side to side at the people who drove and passed by him. Beneath the trees and as the night fell, shadows swathed him so that he was nearly invisible even without the shelter of the heavy, black cloak that he wore tightly wrapped around himself.<p>

Beyond the canopy of shadows and trees the sky was a heavy blue gray as day took her bow and night began her romp on heaven's stage.

Blaise shivered and tucked more tightly against the howling wind, shifting from foot to foot. He hated himself for having been stupid enough to leave the shelter of the hideout to come back to London. And for what?

_Draco is in the same place I was only a few months ago!_

Still, did that warrant leaving behind a family he had just found again? What if he got caught? What if the Ministry was able to trace those they were searching for? It seemed impossible, really with the sheer volume of wizards and witches that lived in London alone. But still…he had held a high position within the Ministry and perhaps they had found his abandonment of their causes a greater slight than most.

Blaise didn't know.

From his left there was a skittering and then the moan of the wind. To his right headlights illuminated the wet, cobbled street and highlighted the tiny, icy flakes that fell from the sky. For a moment there was just the inky darkness and then another Muggle car zipped by, the sound of the tires whooshing across wet pavement.

Then there was a cough slightly to his right and Blaise turned to see Draco watching him in the darkness. His face was gaunt and pallid…strangely sharp and menacing in the moonlight.

"Finally," Blaise hissed his breath pluming in a billowing puff before him.

"I couldn't get away," replied Draco. "I'm afraid they're…"

Blaise found himself understanding and as he tucked the galleon in the depths of his robes he nodded.

"I know."

"Lumos," whispered Draco.

The small space between them bloomed with a soft, white light. Blaise studied Draco critically.

"You look peaked, mate."

"Why didn't you come when I tried contacting you before?" asked Draco, his voice tight with anxiety. He chose to ignore Blaise's seemingly pointless comments on his appearance. "We need out of this city!"

Blaise hesitated and was uncertain in his reply.

"I…"

"You forgot once you had your little family together again, is that it?"

Blaise could not be sure in the dim light but he suddenly believed that Draco's eyes had filled with tears. It was unnerving and the taller, dark man turned away.

"It's not how it seems."

"In that, I do not know if you tell the truth."

Draco's voice was hard and bitter.

"But I helped you rescue Lavender and now you need to pay it forward. I need your help."

Blaise remained silent, his face a hard mask of nothingness as the emotions that lay just beneath began to churn tumultuously.

"At the risk of my family?"

Never before had Blaise seen the light that suddenly sparked in the eyes of the other man. Even in the darkness there seemed to be a burning fire within them.

"A family you would have never been able to reunite with if it weren't for me!"

His wand was raised and Draco took two steps forward daring Blaise to disagree; in fact, daring Blaise to do anything but back away with caution.

"Put down that wand."

"I need your help," repeated Draco.

Finally after a tense silence, the tall, dark man relented. Sighing, he swallowed hard.

"There's a small town in Wales, right near the coast," he began in a low, strained voice. "I've heard that some of the Muggle-borns escaping England go there. Voldemort may be powerful but he hasn't gotten all the control that he wants."

There was a pause and he let out a sigh of relief when the hatred melted from Draco's wan features and the trembling wand was lowered.

"Where?"

"There's a hospital there. A wizarding hospital, second only to Mungo's," he continued. "You remember Longbottom?"

Draco paused. That he did. Longbottom was the kind of bloke that one remembered. He had been too tall and lanky, too awkward, shy, clumsy, uncertain, forgetful…

And yet…

_He's braver than I ever was. He faced his fears; he fought against Voldemort again and again while I cowered like the fool that I am. I made fun of him all through school and yet I only wish I had half his courage._

In the wintry darkness Draco found himself recalling the last time he had seen any of his classmates before the wizarding world had fallen to Voldemort. All of those fighting against the Dark Lord had been brave, he knew. It was the cowards who had sided with him, not the courageous ones. The courageous ones had to face horrors nearly as great as those of Muggle birth. Voldemort had taken the snub of purebloods like Neville, who had firmly sided with Harry Potter, personally and had pitted them against himself. They were to be shunned nearly as much as the Muggle-borns.

"What about him?" Draco found himself asking mildly, his voice barely audible above the rush of the wind.

_Neville Longbottom._

The last thing Draco recalled from the day Hogwarts had fallen to Voldemort was the way that Neville stood against the dark wizard, bravely lifting his chin and defying him-

"He runs the hospital," Blaise replied. "He's a Healer now, you know. One of the best in Wales, and he takes care of all the refugees that seek safety outside of England."

Neither man had to speak; Draco was aware that the hospital would have taken in all the Muggle-borns fleeing from England and hoping for a better life somewhere else. But where? How far would they have to run to find the peace they wanted? So Neville was _still_ giving all his time and his life for others.

Fucking saint he was.

"The A. F. Memorial Magical Clinic."

Draco lit a cigarette, the end winking and flaring in the winter chill.

"Is that so?"

"He provides the underprivileged with herbs and medicines of all kinds. Helps the local Healers and apothecaries with supplies. He's a regular walking Jesus Christ. His grandmother left him loads of money when she passed and he named the clinic after his parents. I heard his mum was transferred there just before she passed. Da's been dead I while I reckon."

Draco made a sound in the back of his throat and then took a pull on the cigarette.

"So that's where the Muggle-borns go? The ones that the Alliance rescues?"

"That and a few places, but yes, mostly."

There was a silence as Draco finished his cigarette and dropped it onto the ground.

"You want me to send Hermione there, yeah?"

Blaise shrugged noncommittally.

"I plan on heading to Wales myself, soon. Then Asia, maybe, though I heard North America…"

He stopped, clearing his throat.

"I want to start a new life for Daisy and for Lavender. I was going to be off next week, actually. I suppose if you want her out of London earlier, you could talk to Luna Scamander."

Draco nodded without commenting and Blaise continued.

"She acts as a liaison between the Alliance and those in Wales and beyond who are helping the cause, Neville being one of our benefactors and the one that…well that we rely on the most, I suppose you could say."

He sighed.

"Being pureblood, she can hold up the act and get places that most others can't. She's out there each month and Neville provides us with medication, bandages, healing potions…"

He shrugged.

"I think your…Hermione…would do well there. She was always top notch in potions, wasn't she?"

Draco nodded. That and many other things. A strange feeling of loss washed over him and he shivered. Loosing Hermione was the unthinkable; he was afraid that something would tear them apart but he sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight.

"I suppose then we go with you. Next week it is."

Blaise nodded. Then Draco's eyes shifted to the left towards the Ministry Headquarters.

"Before that though, I need one more thing."

* * *

><p>The snow fell in large, white flakes from the darkened sky and sat atop Astoria's luxurious, dark hair, like white frosting on a decadent chocolate cake. She looked away from the wet, cobbled street, frowning. It was evening true, but not that late and the streets of Diagon Alley were already near empty.<p>

It had been like that for months now, perhaps even going on over a year and most of the time Astoria had told herself not to think about it, that life changed and things never stayed as they were but-

_The Ministry is destroying wizarding existence, isn't it? Slowly but surely there are less and less of us…_

Things would never be as they had been when Astoria was a girl; those years the streets of the Alley had been filled with witches and wizards, resounding with laughter and conversation and the air redolent with the scent of food. She had loved this part of London as a girl but now she _loathed_the world beyond the walls of her mansion in Kensington.

Most of the shops along the main drag were boarded up. Some for years now, really, and each year more and more stores were closing their doors due to the hardships pressed upon them by the Ministry. No more Muggle-borns roamed the streets and those who had been fortuitous enough to own property in Diagon Alley had been chased off or even worse, killed. All the businesses that still thrived were owned or run by either the Ministry or those purebloods that showed unwavering loyalty to Voldemort.

The old Apothecary still stood, selling potions and ingredients, herbs and other such things from behind a dusty, wooden counter. The old owner had passed and now it was run by an older Ministry official who kept close tabs on who came and went and who was buying what. It was a sick form of control.

Down the street stood a large building that had once housed the many robes sold by Madam Malkin. Rumor had it that the old biddy had gone crazy after being run out of her shop by the Ministry three years before. No one knew where she had gone or even if she was still alive. Astoria still recalled the little, plump woman who had never been anything but kind to the people that entered her shop.

Joy banished and then snuffed out.

That's what the Ministry did best.

No one had spoken about Malkins' sudden disappearance and if anyone grieved her Astoria had never known. She only knew that the proprietor of Twilfit & Tattings had never even batted an eye. The elderly, well-dressed wizard had taken over Malkin's location as if nothing had ever happened. It was said that his business began to increase simply because he had once or twice dressed Voldemort himself. And that was how anyone got anywhere in the world now, Astoria realized. Voldemort's favor was required; no one had freedom because it had been long taken away from them.

The old, imposing marble building that housed Gringott's still stood, however, along with the goblins that worked within it, the Ministry also wielded a strong presence. And now to keep anything within its walls, a wizard or witch had to prove themselves worthy.

_It's not like a Mudblood has anything of worth…at least not anymore._

Beyond the bank stood the headquarters of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding paper which wasn't really a source of valid information any longer. Everyone reading it knew that to be true but no one ever said a word; the Carrow twins did a spectacular job of filtering information, removing that which was unimportant and twisting that which was necessary so that Voldemort's message was loud and clear. The paper was no longer a voice of the wizarding world; instead, it was a massive vessel which the Dark Lord used to control everyone around him.

The once bright and bustling eateries and cafes stood side by side, mostly dark and foreboding now. As Astoria passed by quickly, shivering from the cold around her, she could see the faint flickering of candles in the windows; a sign of life within. No one really patronized the cafes within Diagon Alley anymore; many of the Ministry officials preferred the restaurants of Muggle London. She knew why; the atmosphere here was oppressive and hopeless. Why would anyone want to be there?

As a child, she had loved Florean's ice-cream shop and the little candy store that stood alongside it. But like Malkin, Florian was long gone…closing up shop just as Voldemort had taken over the Ministry. Now his little store had been turned into a sleazy pub.

And just like Malkin's and Florean's establishments, several others no longer stood. Ollivander's had long ago shut its doors along with the Menagerie. Astoria did not know why; perhaps the Ministry had other sources for wands. The Emporium still stood and Flourish and Blotts was still known throughout wizarding Britain though it no longer was the bustling business it had been seven years before.

"Missus Malfoy!"

The strangled voice came from the beauty shop just down a bit from the bookstore. Astoria turned plastering a cold, unfeeling look on her face.

"Yes?"

"Good to see you it is, Ma'am. You came at a right time, too. I've got a whole new collection to show ya!"

The proprietor seemed over eager as she motioned Astoria towards the little, well-lit shop. It was the only storefront that seemed alit and that made it all the more depressing.

"I…"

Astoria faltered a bit as she crossed the wet street and then paused along the sidewalk.

"Perhaps another time, but I do thank you," she replied, trying not to wince and appearing as kind as she could. The little witch's face fell.

"Right, I is sorry, ma'am, perhaps I was a bit too enthusiastic, yeah? Do come soon, I…"

It was evident in the lines of the face and the brightness of eye that the woman was desperate for customers; perhaps she was doing as poorly as the rest of Diagon Alley. At least _this_part of Diagon Alley anyway. Without so much as a good-night, Astoria turned and rushed back towards Gringotts and took a corner, slipping into the shadows there.

A moment later she saw the glimmering candlelight from the windows of mostly all the shops along this alley. Everywhere else life and business seemed to be dying, but here, in Knockturn Alley, things were right jolly. Here there was the sound of gruff laughter and the breaking of glass and the smell of cigarette smoke. Just down the way, Borgin still ran a profitable shop (Burkes had died in a mysterious accident, or so Astoria had heard). Near to his shop stood several small, run-down buildings from which two mangy-looking proprietors sold a variety of goods, calling out to possible patrons in the near darkness.

Astoria passed by quickly without making eye contact, moving towards the rowdier part of the street. To her left stood a garishly lit building housing Knockturn Alley's premier gentlemen's club. Here could be heard the sound of bawdy laughter and drunk catcalls, and Astoria took in a breath scented with cheap perfume. Just a few feet down to her right stood her destination; it was a smaller building with high windows on the upper level and brightly lit lower windows and a stark red awning above the wooden front door.

She stopped, gazing up at the sloppily painted wooden sign. It had been enchanted so that the advertisement glowed merrily.

_The Werewolf's Tabernacle_

_Unique bitters!_

_Cheap fish and chips!_

_Best pork pies this side of London!_

Moving carefully, Astoria peeked into the grimy window. The establishment was busy; she had expected nothing less. Apart from a few popular Muggle pubs, the Tabernacle was the favorite of many wizards and witches. It was always filled with patrons…and not only Ministry officials, though mostly so. The tavern had only been in business for three years, opened by a witch who had the kind of look that made others wince and turn away. She was purported to be one of Fenrir Greyback's lovers, and the name she had chosen for her establishment did nothing to quiet those rumors.

Indeed it was one of Fenrir's favorite places; he could be found there most nights.

Astoria saw him immediately. She could see towards the shadowy corners of the room and for a moment she thought he had looked up at her, those hungry eyes gleaming even in the dim lighting. She caught her breath; he licked his chapped and lacerated lips.

Astoria shuddered.

Fenrir smirked and shifted in his seat. So he _had_ seen her. She hated it and the fact that he knew her secret. She had little time to sneak away from Kensington…at least before. Now, what did it matter?

As Astoria's eyes widened she tried in vain to look away from the wolf-like man who still lounged in the darkest corner of the Tabernacle. She fought to hide the fear that Fenrir often evoked within her for she knew he fed on it just like he fed on the flesh and blood of others. Distracted by the presence of the tall, hulking man, she hadn't taken the moment to look around the rest of the room before walking inside.

_Why do I come here? Why do I subject myself to this over and over again?_

Tears prickled behind her eyes but this time Astoria wasn't sure if it was from the hopelessness of her situation or from the fact that her husband was dead and she felt nothing. The sudden rush of emotion paralyzed her and as she remained rooted to the dusty, wooden-planked floor, Fenrir rose from his chair and sauntered across the room, his dark eyes locking and holding hers.

Already she could see the hint of a presumptuous smile on his weathered face, the hint of sharp, yellowed teeth.

She knew why she came here; she knew why she had been lying to Draco for months, telling him she was going to play cards or shop or whatever it was that was expected of her, all the while coming _here._Here to this hot, over-crowded tavern with air that was thickly scented with ale and fried foods and the disharmonious sound of laughter and conversation.

She knew.

Fenrir stopped a few feet to her left and Astoria swallowed away her fear, lifting her chin but breaking his heated gaze.

"Here again, are you Poppet?"

His voice was dripping with hunger, the sound low and gravely.

"That's what…three times this week?"

He cocked his head curiously and Astoria snuck a look at him. Fenrir's dark eyes were bright with a twisted amusement and his dry and pasty lips were turned up in an unpleasant smile.

"My, my…if your husband weren't dead, I imagine you would raise his suspicions, yes?"

Astoria blanched and faced him, her eyes wide in shock.

"You know about Draco?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

His smile was wide and Astoria tried not to flinch at the sharp, yellow teeth.

"Well, don't look so distraught, my dear! At least now you won't have to come up with excuses as to where you've been going!"

He nodded towards the rest of the hot, stuffy room.

"This is your favorite place though, isn't it? I reckon I can't blame you."

Astoria watched the back of Fenrir's thick, matted hair as he took a step away from her and she released a breath she didn't even know she had been holding.

"It's quite the fine establishment."

He turned around again with that same, frightening grin. Before she knew it, he was behind her, his large, heated body pressing against the length of her small back. Astoria attempted not to shudder; she stood deathly still as he breathed against her ear.

"It's because of who's here, isn't it, Poppet?"

His breath was hot and she thought it smelled like he was rotting from the inside out. He was a large man and loomed over her so that even if she had wanted to get away, Astoria was immobile. All she could do was will herself not to move and to shut her eyes tightly.

For a moment all she could feel was the sudden, heavy hammering of her own heart and the heat of him against her.

_Why am I here?_

The tiny, pleading voice sounded once more from somewhere in the recesses of her mind just as Fenrir was whispering into her ear again, the sound as rough as sand.

"What would your parents say, Poppet? Would they look down on their little girl and her depraved desires?"

As she stood there helpless in the face of him, Astoria wondered if he was right.

Coming to the Tabernacle time and time again had gone against what she had been taught was proper. It wasn't right for a girl of her stature and breeding to be seen in such a tavern and with such people! Even though she knew it was true, Astoria allowed herself a moment of fancy; she let her heart pound out of control with the thrill of doing the forbidden. She felt it in every inch of her body and gloried in the rush that she always got when she was doing what she wanted and not what was expected of her.

She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy with the sudden rush of elation. There…there was the reason that she had come to Knockturn Alley. There.

"Give me just a taste, my lovely one," whispered Fenrir, still hard and hot against her. "And I'll give you what you want."

Her eyes fluttered closed. It would be too easy, Astoria knew. But what did it matter now? It wasn't like she had ever loved Draco. And now he was dead. All the more reason to give into whatever this dark, twisted _thing _that had captured her so long ago.

With a shaking breath, Astoria opened her eyes.

* * *

><p>The sound of the door opening in the tiny flat sounded incredibly loud to Hermione's ears. She jumped up, rushing across the bedroom and into the small living space just as Draco walked inside, shaking white snowflakes from his hair.<p>

At the sight of him, tension that Hermione hadn't known she was feeling melted away like the snowflakes that still clung to his long robes. He gave her a quick once-over as he walked into the main room.

"You look like you've seen the Bloody Baron," he joked and Hermione offered a weak grin. She shook her head then, feeling sheepish.

"I know it seems silly," she countered. "But I just…with everything that's…"

Somehow it was impossible to express in words what she was feeling but Draco didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to know and came closer, wrapping his arms around her small body. She felt him press his lips into her hair for a brief moment before he spoke.

"It's not silly. Bloody hell, after what you've been through…"

They stood there like that in the stark silence holding each other.

"I know it won't make sense," she murmured thoughtfully. "But for the first time since I ran off from Hogwarts, I'm alone. I mean, I've always sort of been alone, you know. Since the Ministry fell, even. Ron and Ginny…they never understood. No one does, unless they're like I am."

Draco stiffened visibly, his eyes suddenly moving down towards her. The hurt was physical.

"You mean because you're a-"

He stopped himself before the horrible word fell from his lips but when she gazed up at him there were echoes of sadness in her eyes that mirrored the sudden pain he had felt at the fact that in spite of being with him, she still felt alone.

Her lips were a thin line.

"I know you try not to think of me like that. But it's what you've thought…it's what they've _all_ thought for so long. Mudblood. I know what I am and what everyone thinks of me."

"And no one but the other Muggle-borns know how you feel," Draco finished for Hermione. She nodded and he gripped her hand tightly for a moment.

"I'm sorry that I can't seem to-"

She silenced his torment with a touch.

"You don't have to apologize. Don't you know what I think each time I see that Mark on your forearm?"

Her face was a melding of sympathy and disgust.

"It's the same thing," she finished, shaking her head. Draco tipped her chin up tenderly.

"Why do you have to feel alone?" he asked, his words plaintive. "I'm right here."

Her eyes gazed into his longingly, wishing he would understand.

"I know," she whispered, feeling a hard aching that resonated right down to the depths of her soul. She opened her mouth knowing it would be impossible to explain what it was that she felt but Draco spoke first.

"And I love you," he reminded in a voice that was broken. "I love you and I'm going to protect you."

Then there was a changing in the lines of his face and the gleam of his eyes as determination filled him.

"I won't let them hurt you again, never again. I promised you, Hermione. I've chosen _you._"

Tears welled up in the depths of her brown eyes as Hermione nodded wordlessly, feeling her throat dry up.

"I know," she repeated, squeezing his fingers.

A confusing rush of emotions overwhelmed Hermione. There was love and fear, confusion and hopelessness, anger and frustration and still that nibbling of shame. She pressed herself against him, burying her face into the warmth of his chest. He was soft, real and warm against her face. Her heart beat dully within her as she held him close, willing herself not to weep as she was drowned by emotion.

"I know," she repeated. "And I chose _you.__"_

The recollection of _that_ night, the night of the fire, assaulted her and Hermione had trouble standing for a few moments. Draco seemed to recognize her sudden weakness and led her to the bed in the next room.

The images that flashed behind her closed eyes made Hermione want to weep. The flames, rising high in the icy, night sky. The way Justin's body had lain there crumbled and broken. The look of disbelief on Lavender's face as they had been so close to freedom and Hermione had-

And the worst part was the way Ginny had gazed at her, the way Lily had been crying, tears running down her tiny, soot-covered face.

For the first time, Hermione found herself analyzing her decision, turning, folding and unfolding it in her mind. She had chosen Draco; she would not have left without him. She had given up Ginny, and now she didn't know if she'd ever see her friend again.

_After everything she did for me! I chose a Death Eater, didn't I?_

Guilt raged within her and she got caught in its heavy web.

"Ginny's gone now, and so is Justin. So is everyone I know and…"

_Love…_

It had been on the tip of her tongue and she hadn't spoken it, instead searching Draco's face. Now, more than any other time since the night she had been brought to the forsaken alienage, she was at Draco Malfoy's mercy. She had chosen him, had made herself lonely and vulnerable for him and if there ever had been a time within which he could have destroyed her-

The image of her long-dead husband floated across Hermione tortured conscience. Ron, whose love she had never questioned nor doubted. Ron, whose family had accepted her without reservation and conditions. Ron…

_I abandoned Ron's family! The only family he might have left!_

Tears suddenly rushed to her eyes and she blinked them away, feeing the burn on her cheeks and seeing Draco's expression change, turn confused and then tight with bitterness.

She had hurt Ginny and now she was hurting Draco…Draco who loved her. Draco who had given up so much and still somehow she was afraid. Afraid that he would-

No, she wouldn't think of that even though her heart hammered wildly within her, fueled by her innermost fears. She didn't want to be hurt anymore. She didn't want to feel abandoned and afraid, and she certainly never wanted to be in the clutches of those who had been so cruel to her thus far. And here she was…

Alone.

In a moment that seemed surreal, Draco's beautiful gray eyes filled with tears.

"You could have gone with them."

The sound of his voice echoed through the tiny bedroom.

"I wouldn't have stopped you."

His hand tightened in hers just as she leaned into him. Then she felt him shaking silently and allowed the silence to prevail if only for a few moments.

"If you had gone with them our baby would be alive now."

The words were edgy and they made Hermione's heart break.

"You don't know that," she chastised.

"You would have been with the people who love you and not here with me, and I-"

Somehow it was impossible for Draco not to wallow in self-hatred though he tried to fight against the flood that wanted to drown him.

"I could have left," she said firmly. "But not without you. I'm not going anywhere without you."

She reached up so that he could look nowhere but at her face.

"So you remember that, Draco Malfoy. I'm not going _anywhere_ without _you_."

There was a pause and he swallowed and nodded.

"If that's true," he said slowly. "I won't let you go out there alone. I'm going to make sure that if I can't protect you that you'll be able to protect yourself."

Her face fell. Those days were over, weren't they? It had been years since any Muggle-born could say they had the ability to protect themselves; the Ministry had taken away all possibility of that.

But just as she was burdened with the heaviness of such thoughts, her wand hand itched with desire. It had been too long.

_Stop it, Hermione! Such foolishness!_

She watched silently as Draco reached into the depths of his long, black robes.

"I have something for you," he murmured.

As she stared, he placed a small object, wrapped in black cloth, onto her lap.

"Blaise told me that the thing he regretted the most was sending Lavender out into the city without protection. She was helpless. I won't let you be helpless too."

He opened the small parcel with shaking fingers and Hermione gasped. Never in all her days had she received a gift so precious. She couldn't remember how long it was, but she recognized the light brown color and the small scratch near the top from a potions snafu in third year…or had it been second?

Her heart began to race out of control as she stared.

"My wand…"

Her eyes were riveted to the spot where the vine and dragon heartstring wand lay. Then she turned her glittering eyes up to Draco's somber face.

"You…found my wand?"

His lips turned up in the all too familiar smirk.

"Well, I suppose if you want to think of it like _that_…"

Hermione, startled, looked up at Draco.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, her eager fingers just barely brushing the surface of the wand. Even so, she felt a sudden rush of electricity at the contact and nearly wanted to weep. It had been too long; she had been denied this one thing for so many years! Already she had forgotten the fine points of wand magic, but surely with time and…

Was it even possible?

Her lips trembled just as Draco reached down and picked up the wand. He then placed it firmly into her grasp and she wrapped her shaking fingers around it tightly.

"Promise me you won't use it until I say you can," he said very seriously.

Hermione stared at him feeling a warm, rushing feeling through her body, as if something had been released within her.

_Magic…?_

Draco covered his hand with hers.

"I want you to have something so that if…if you need to, you can protect yourself. But only if you need to. Hermione, they can track you with…with your wand. That's why…"

He shuddered.

"It's why you can't use it. If they…"

She set the wand aside even though it caused her near physical pain to do so. She warred with opposing emotions; one telling her that she had every right to what was hers and the other telling her that it was stupid and dangerous…

She could only gaze at him for a long moment, shocked and thrilled by what he had done.

"You brought me my wand," she breathed, a smile lighting up her face. Draco thought it was like the same light that burned within her brought to the surface. He wanted to bask in it for all time.

"If you need it," he replied, his voice a whisper. "And not for any other reason."

The warning died between them before he lifted her tiny hand and put it firmly within his own.

"We're leaving, Hermione."

The words were soft and held no firmness but there was nothing understated in Hermione's reaction. She began to shake and her eyes swam with tears of relief.

"We'll be safe?" Hermione replied hopefully.

"There's a place for us," he replied. "And I'll do everything in my power to get us there safely. But if I can't, that's…well, that's why you have the wand."

He tipped up her chin, giving her a knowing smile.

"And the Granger I remember…well, she knew how to use it."

She bit the inside of her lower lip.

"_When_ will I be allowed to use it?" she asked her voice shaking with trepidation. It seemed too good to be true, holding her very own wand again. It was solid, cool and felt so…_right._

Draco took a breath.

"Once we're out of London. They track him, you know. Voldemort, I mean. And he can't…well one can't dominate everyone all at once. He might have all of London under his control now, but there's always Ireland, Hermione. And Wales…Merlin knows there's tons of places to hide there. And Scotland! Gods, it's closer to Hogwarts, and maybe he hasn't gotten…"

He shook his head knowing that he couldn't answer Hermione's questions, at least not to her satisfaction. But she didn't look upset; in fact, she looked awed as she ran her fingers up and down the length of her wand thoughtfully.

"I didn't want you to be without a way to help yourself if ever you needed to."

She reached up, closing the distance between them.

"It's all going to work out now," she whispered with a certainty he did not feel. "I won't have to use it."

Draco shrugged without replying.

"Where did you get it?" she questioned. "I know they confiscated our wands so long ago and I was sure that…well, that they were gone?"

Her maple-colored eyes bore into his and Draco couldn't, for the life of him, lie to her again.

"Blaise helped me get into the Ministry. I knew where they kept the wands, it was just a matter of _getting_there."

Not that it had been a matter at all, he knew. He would have done _anything_ for her.

Hermione stood, shaking her head. She was torn between being angry with him for risking his life over a silly wand and wanting to weep for joy at having found the one good thing in the whole wide world. And it was shining in the depths of his eyes.

"You could have gotten killed."

"I know."

Sighing, she went and wrapped her arms around him forgotten all the horrible things for just a few moments.

"I love you for it."

She did. And she had no clue how much he loved _her._


	44. Chapter 44

_Sorry this is late and of course, my being lax in responding! It's December and it's my busiest month both writing and real life. I've got a Secret Santa exchange for my other fandom, a drabble ficathon and I'm writing a hopefully short piece for the GE December challenge. So…anyway, I hope you like this next segment – it kind of leads into the next part of this story which will separate Dramione for awhile. But I'll talk more on that later! Enjoy and if I don't get another chapter posted by Christmas, hopefully everyone has a lovely holiday. And I promise to respond to reviews within the next few weeks. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR<p>

* * *

><p>Marcus turned around when he saw Pansy's eyes flicker with interest at something behind him. There stood Fenrir wearing the same disgusting smirk that he always wore right before he made a conquest. This was unsurprising; Fenrir was the kind of man who was able to manipulate women into seeing beyond his animalistic, twisted side. Marcus wanted to know that secret.<p>

The part that surprised him was the woman who happened to be at Fenrir's side. Astoria Greengrass Malfoy.

"How about that," he commented then as Pansy turned around, her expression still cold though he knew there was something beneath that iciness. Something bitter and hateful. "Looks like the wolf has a new Riding Hood."

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"It's disgusting," she spat.

"Coming from you?"

"Piss off, Flint. I'm warning you. What you and I had once was…and involving _him-__"_

There was a moment when Pansy lost all ability to speak; in that moment she thought back to her rocky relationship with Marcus. She thought of those few times that she had given in to Marcus' strange, dirty desires and Fenrir had-

"She had everything," Pansy hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "Everything and she never once loved it- loved HIM! Never! And she comes here and offers herself to Fenrir like some sort of wanton whore?"

There was nothing, no words, no volume of passion enough to express what was in Pansy's heart. She could only stare at the wooden table her face a mask of utter despair. And Marcus wondered if it was possible to love someone more than he loved the woman seated in front of him while hating her at the same time. It confused him; the dizzying emotions seemed to flow within rendering him completely helpless on the outside.

How could he love her so and she not feel an ounce of that? How was it that he had given her so much over the years and she had never looked on him the way he hoped she would? The way he imagined all those long nights in the library at Hogwarts when she had been a first-year?

No, Marcus didn't understand much about the finite points of human relationships but he did understand her pain and frustration.

"It's over Malfoy, isn't it?"

She blinked, startled.

"Malfoy is dead. Whatever they had-"

She fell silent but he could still feel her pain and the longing in the ears of his mind. She would never want him the way she had wanted Malfoy; he would never been good enough and maybe…she didn't even know.

"It's hard, wanting someone that doesn't want you."

Once more her hatred melted away to reveal shock.

"What do you know?"

Marcus felt stupid; perhaps it was the way she spoke those words, the disdain in her tone. Perhaps it was something else. Either way, his tongue cleaved to the top of his dry mouth and somehow, nothing came out.

"You used to help me in lessons all the time. Remember?"

Her dark eyes focused on his face and Marcus felt like she had the power to shrink him with her piercing gaze. He had always likened her eyes to two beautiful, onyx gems. Her eyes were as mysterious as the stones themselves. But now he didn't want her l_ooking_ at him the way she was, as if she could see into his very soul.

"I remember."

There was a silence between them but it was filled by the rowdy crowd as it swam around them in the Tabernacle. Marcus felt like time had stopped for him; he felt as if he and Pansy were in their own world, apart from the others. Just like he had always hoped. Finally, he had her full attention. It wasn't like other times. It wasn't like she was coming to him frustrated and in need of physical release. It wasn't just sex; it hadn't ever been just about sex. He wanted her; he loved her.

"I had hoped you'd go to Hogsmeade with me sometime," he managed to say, feeling more and more stupid. He wasn't able to look at her, but from the tone of her voice he could imagine how she was looking at him.

"You never asked."

"Would you have?"

"Does it matter now?"

The two stared at each other and suddenly Pansy was aware of the way Marcus was watching her. Had he always looked at her that way?

_Merlin's bloody left-_

She stopped thinking and could only look at him hear heart suddenly lurching and then beginning to thump strangely within her. Did it matter now, seven years later? Seven long, miserable fucked up years within which she had done irreversible, horrid things.

Would it have matter if she had felt wanted? If she had resigned herself to what may have been offered and not set her heart on a man who would never love her? It would never matter now, she realized.

"I don't know," was his reply.

Pansy couldn't look at him for she feared that he knew her heart. Perhaps he had known all along-

"You could have said something," she whispered raggedly. "All those nights…all those moments-"

"You didn't want me in those moments, you wanted someone else. You weren't coming to me because you cared."

No, he was right in that. She had come to him because he had been a hot-blooded man who wanted her and she hadn't wanted to sleep in a cold, lonely bed. Sometimes she had forced her eyes closed and had allowed herself to believe the man she was with was Draco. She had forced herself to forget that it was Marcus who held her; he had been the only man with whom Pansy had forged anything beyond a simple one night need fuck. She had always told herself one day, it would be Draco. She had tried to save herself for the one man in the world that her heart melted for.

Not this man, though. Not Marcus Flint who sat opposite her at the rickety table. He was the man whom had always sat across from her, who had always been just one step behind. He was the man who knew her mind and knew how to manipulate, to fight to fuck just the way she wanted.

_And I don't want him. Why is that?_

Pansy felt a rush of tears coming at her but quelled the need quickly, snuffing it out brutally and letting out a strange, strangled laugh.

"Look at you," she hissed, hating herself more than she could remember. More even, than the day she had taken Lily Potter. The only thing that was clear in that smoky, crowded tavern was that Marcus wore a look of stark hopefulness and it was foreign to her on a face that she had, for so long, associated with the darkest most miserable moments of her life. And yet, now, he sat there _hoping._

_And I hate him for it. I hate him._

"How could you not see it?"

She let out a bout of contemptuous laughter to cover what she knew was growing guilt and the unnerve she felt.

"As if I would pay attention to _you.__"_

The look on his face was not satisfying; the sadistic need to cause someone else's pain so they wouldn't see hers did not work on Marcus.

"I know you hate yourself," he whispered. "I know a lot of things about you."

"You know nothing, you piece of filth! Don't you dare assume that you and I have-"

Marcus sat back, shaking his head.

"What I wouldn't have done for you! I love you, Pansy!"

She swallowed. Once, then twice, working hard to keep her cool.

"In this world, love doesn't exist. You're even bigger a fool if you believe it does."

"This from someone who loves a Malfoy?"

"I love an illusion," said she. "I love a world and a life that I never believed could happen and now it never will. He was always too good for me."

Suddenly, Pansy found herself unsteady on her feet, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Her world spun in a slow circle just like the circle that Marcus had been dancing around in for years and years.

"Go away," she whispered but this time her words were not nasty but a plea. Marcus stood but would not move and instead, she stumbled forward towards Astoria and Fenrir.

"She never even loved him."

Draco was on her mind; Draco who loved another and who probably wouldn't have given a damn what his wife was doing and with whom! The thought of Fenrir made her burning flesh crawl, and knowing that she, too, had allowed the man to seduce her-

"You judge her?" Marcus said from behind and Pansy wished she could turn around and claw his eyes out. She wanted to destroy Marcus Flint; she wanted no memory, no stain on her mind where he had been.

_Do I blame him?_

The unreasonable thought would not allow her rest and her heart thumped unevenly as she glared at the tall, dark-haired man.

"Go away," she warned again, this time her words more firm. "I don't want to see you."

"He promises them whatever they want so they'll sleep with him, you know."

The glorious flush of her cheeks told Marcus that Pansy had already known that. Maybe that had been the reason why she had gone to bed with him…with both of them. The fact that Fenrir had been a friend of the Malfoy family was not lost on him.

"Is that what he told you?" Marcus asked curiously. "That he'd convince Malfoy-"

"You loathsome, repugnant, piece of shit!"

He lifted his wand against her sudden outburst, the hatred making her eyes glow from within with some sort of hellish fire.

"You'd mock my choices, would you? And here I thought you loved me?" she mocked, her wand hand trembling just slightly. And just like that the anger was gone, replaced just as quickly by a heavy heartbreak.

"She had everything she could want! What could that man offer her? How could she sully herself with such a creature-"

Marcus took a breath, his gaze unwavering.

"Me. She wants me."

His voice was sad.

"Just like you, Astoria wanted the one man who couldn't love her."

All color drained from her face and Pansy stared, as if turned to stone.

* * *

><p>Fenrir's voice was like a strange music to Astoria's ears. Within the Tabernacle with it's noisy surroundings and the sound of yelling and laughter, the voice against her ear was muted and much like a sinful velvet.<p>

"There he is. So close…isn't he, Poppet?"

Astoria closed her eyes, shaking just slightly. Yes, there he was. The reason she was there; her only reason, really.

_Why am I here? When he clearly will never love me, why am I here?_

Once again the question begged an answer and she did not have it. She could only stand there pressed against the filth that was Fenrir Greyback because he was her only chance now. The only chance she had to get closer to Marcus…to make him _see._

She hadn't known Marcus in school. What she had known was the stories Daphne had told her of the oldest Flint boy, nearly eight years her senior, the son of a family friend who had turned out not to be such a good friend after all. She hadn't learned until she got older that Marcus' father had cheated her own out of too many galleons to count after an investment gone wrong. Even now Astoria wasn't sure if the elder Flint had cheated her father or not. Either way, after that incident, neither girl had been allowed to be around any of the Flints…and that meant their two sons as well. It hadn't mattered to Daphne; she had married well and quickly, too. Astoria had been determined to do the same although she hadn't relished the idea…at all. She had simply allowed family propriety and the right thing to pull her along while she half lived her life. Indifference, she realized, had been a mild term for what she had been feeling.

That was until she had run into the eldest Flint boy simply by chance. Now, in retrospect, Astoria realized that it had been at the Three Broomsticks shortly after Voldemort had taken hold of the Ministry just about three months before the announcement of her engagement to Draco Malfoy. She still remembered his voice, deep and resonating.

_So you do exist, yeah? Though I can't quite remember why I thought you were a little girl…_

There had been a smirk on those full lips and a glint of amusement in his eyes. And from the moment she had locked eyes with the brooding, blustery dark-haired man Astoria had come undone. She hadn't known then that no other man would ever make her feel what Marcus had so easily, without even wanting to.

He had been exactly the kind of man her mother had warned her about. He had been moody, unpredictable, rude and conniving. Yet something in his dark, flashing eyes had been magnetic and undeniable. That day, Astoria had given up on what she should have wanted and had fallen hard for a man whose name she hadn't even known! Only later had Daphne told her (and quite condescendingly, too) who he had been.

Astoria had grudgingly accepted Draco's family ring and she had married him in a glorious and glittering ceremony. No one had noticed (at least to her knowledge) that the bride and groom had both seemed much too somber amidst such revelry and gaiety. She hadn't known what Draco had been thinking but she knew what man she had been thinking about. And unfortunately it hadn't been her husband. She hadn't hated Draco, per se. She had tolerated him because it was the right thing to do. But he hadn't been the one in her dreams and dominating her waking hours. He wasn't the one she would rush home to, instead spending her evenings in Knockturn Alley at the new establishment called the Tabernacle where Marcus spent most of his free time. There she had celebrated with him when he had been promoted in the Ministry. There, she had laughed and drank with him, trying to behave like a lady but wanting nothing more than to get lost in the endless depths of his dark, mysterious eyes. There, she had pretended she wasn't the wife of a Malfoy but just a girl drinking in a bar allowing herself the fantasy that maybe he might want her secretly, just as she wanted him.

She had watched the Ministry destroy him just like it did everyone, sooner or later. She had watched him grow angry and bitter as his obsession with Pansy Parkinson grew and deepened. She had watched with sad irony because she had known that Pansy was in love with Draco just as she was in love with Marcus. They had been a fucked up, unholy trinity of unrequited affections and love stories that would never be told. She had watched as Fenrir had nurtured a sadistic side that Marcus hid from most people but danced on the edge of succumbing to.

And she had watched silently as he loved a woman who would never love him. So many nights she had been tempted to look him in those beautiful eyes and tell him that she wasn't the little girl that she had been and that nothing, not even a marriage and one dead son and all the money in England could make her heart stop wanting him. The heart wanted what it wanted. Someone had told her that many years before and only now was Astoria feeling the truth of such a statement.

Their eyes met across the smoky, brightly lit room and Astoria stopped breathing. She realized, not for the first time, how easily this man got to her and how hard it was to hide her feelings.

She watched as he whispered something against Pansy's ear and then the other woman went pale.

_I hate her. I hate her for what she has and has never appreciated and I hate that she wasn't the one who had to marry Draco Malfoy. Bloody hell!_

It was just then that Pansy yanked away from Marcus in a brutally graceful way and dashed out the wooden doors into the darkness, leaving him alone.

"Marcus," she managed and found it impossible that he could have heard her over the din surrounding them. Time slowed and Astoria felt like she couldn't move. He took a few steps forward, cocking his head.

"With Fenrir, I see?"

It was his words that brought her back to life and turning, Astoria found that the taller man had departed and was sitting nearby watching them with a hungry look.

"No, I-"

"I know how it is, Astoria. I've watched Pansy do the same thing over and over. You think that Fenrir is going to help you? Save yourself the misery…in fact, save _both_ of us that misery."

She blinked feeling her heart in her throat. To say this was the moment of truth would have been the understatement of the century and she willed herself to speak though it was hard.

"Marcus, he's dead…D-draco is dead."

"So I've heard."

Both of their eyes moved to the door through which Pansy had disappeared. Her eyes flickered back to the hard lines of Marcus' face and she could see the tightening of his jaw and the same old pained expression. It was the same thing; he was hurting again because of Pansy's rejection. Even dead, it seemed Draco would get in between them. Astoria had a hard time deciding if she ought to let the bubble of triumph warm her heart. Perhaps now she would have that chance-

"You know I love you."

It was a desperate statement spoken in a voice atremble and she willed him to stop and look at her…_really_look at her this time. All the other noise in the room melted together, churned and then faded as Astoria held her breath. Never before had she uttered those words. Never before had she laid in on the line but she knew if not now, then never.

"It's always been you."

He stared.

"I've loved you from the moment we met at the Three Broomsticks. I was a silly girl, I know. Maybe I always will be but I can't help…the way I feel."

Astoria found herself recalling other moments with Marcus in the past where those eyes hid mysteries she desperately wanted to know. But not like this; never had she wanted to know what was on his mind more than in that moment. She nearly trembled in her desire.

"Please, tell me what you're thinking."

"Nothing's changed, Astoria."

"My husband is dead!" she exclaimed, tears filling her eyes. Her tone was incredulous – as if she was in shock over his mild rebuttal of her admission. "And my loving means nothing to you?"

He took a breath.

"Nothing would be too harsh a word. But you know it can't be."

"It could be if you wanted!"

A guarded, dark expression colored his features.

"Have you never considered the idea that I have? All those nights you came here to see me when you should have been with your husband? All the lies you've most likely told? The things you know about me that should have repulsed you and yet you still came?"

He shook his head and then she could see the misery glittering in the depths of his eyes.

"I'm a prisoner to a woman who…can't help feeling what she feels any more than I can! But at least I can rest at night knowing I wasn't blind."

It was impossible to move forward and he was clumsy; he couldn't get himself to do what he wanted, and that was to touch her for a moment.

"I knew you loved me. I could see it and I could never act on it. Don't you see?"

He was frustrated.

"It's always been her; it has to be her! We're alike, she just doesn't see it! You and I…"

He was saddened then and dropped his gaze.

"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry about Malfoy's death?"

Astoria was white with tension and felt a washing of weakness come across her. She stumbled forward, feeling dizzy.

"No," she hissed. "I wouldn't believe it. You've lost most of your sympathy years ago, haven't you? I told Draco over and over…that the Ministry destroys everything it touches and it's true because I SAW it! I saw them and what they did to YOU!"

There were tears burning down her face, feeling hotter than they should have for blood ran cold within her veins.

"They ruined you..."

"And no one cares but you."

He turned to go.

"I think you know this conversation is over."

But his voice trembled and Astoria rushed behind him, moving towards the door, willing him to wait, to understand, to _love_ her. She was nothing in this world if she didn't have someone, if someone wasn't there when she got home. She wouldn't make it without Marcus.

"Wait!"

She watched him hurry out of the Tabernacle hearing the sound of Fenrir's laughter behind them just as the door shut. It was dark in the alleyway and the moonlight did nothing to help her see. Trembling, she pulled out her wand, her voice hoarse.

"Lumos."

Marcus watched as a thin, whitish light filled the space in the alley and in that light Astoria looked ghostly and frightening; she was nearly a skeleton with dark, glimmering eyes and long, dark hair. Like a vampire, he mused, or even a banshee. Those were bloody awful things. Somehow the declarations she had made only made him uncomfortable, because she had made a strange, long-forgotten emotion awaken in the pit of his belly.

_Do I feel sorry for her? Am I guilty because I can't feel what she wants me to?_

It was true. The woman at his side now had done nothing to harm him. She had only loved him and he felt badly for her. He felt horrible that he had made her come so undone.

"Astoria," he managed, reaching forward, hoping to calm her but she shook her head, rage causing her small body to tremble.

"Don't!"

"Fine," he spat back in the same, disgusted tone. Then he whirled on his heel and began to stalk away leaving Astoria standing there, bereft. Tears blinding her vision and she moved.

"You can't just leave me!"

Up ahead, at the junction of the next alleyway she could see Marcus stop because Pansy stood there and he said something to her but it was too dark to see beyond that. It hurt to watch him stand there wanting someone else, especially now, when she was all alone. But more so because it was Pansy. Pansy who didn't want him because she had-

Stumbling, Astoria followed them blinking away her blinding tears.

* * *

><p>In the darkness, Hermione couldn't see him. Not even the flash of white-blond hair against the pillow. The snowfall outside was pristine and thick and the clouds had covered much of the moonlight.<p>

But she could feel him warm and solid against her body and for that she was eternally grateful. She snuggled in against his body, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and the rumble of his voice as she spoke.

"Did you?"

Distracted, she had stopped listening to him.

"Did I what?"

Hermione could nearly see Draco's tolerant smirk.

"Did you have dreams? You know, before?"

She blinked in the darkness, her fingers playing along the tantalizing lines of his body as she began to think.

"What kind of question is that?"

The words faded in the room as she considered his question. Did he not know what life had been like? Of course he did, and of course for him it would have been vastly different. There hadn't been time for dreams, for a life plan, for any of that. There had only been fear and the idea that if they didn't keep moving something terrible would happen. Not even marrying Ron had changed anything for they hadn't had time to lay out a plan, to hope and fantasize about the future.

And here she was planning a future without him; she was in the arms of the last man she had ever believed would love her.

_Oh, Ron!_

It was strangely painful and nostalgic to think of him now, after everything that had happened.

Draco nudged her.

"I'm sorry I asked, then."

Hermione sat up, heavy, unruly curls spilling around her nude shoulders as she studied his silhouette intently.

"No, don't be. It's just that…no one has asked me that. Not since the Ministry fell."

She bit her lip.

"And no, I've never thought about it. Though I imagine what you have…everything you've…done since Hogwarts…do you count that as your future?"

There was a long silence before he sighed.

"I didn't choose most of what I have."

The room was silent and she could see that Draco was unable to look at her. His voice was cautious.

"A plan…hopes…a future…none of that exists unless someone wants it. The job was given to me. And Astoria was a trophy. Everything was for show, really."

He paused.

"Scorpius being an exception, of course."

Then he gazed up at her for a brief moment and Hermione could see his eyes flash for an instant.

"Life wasn't worth living until you walked back into mine. As shitty and fucked up as it was, Granger," he finished wryly, though there was sincerity in his words. "I'd rather live in fear with you at my side the rest of my life than ever go back to the nothing that was my life before you."

She smiled in the darkness, their hands linking instinctually.

"I'll hold you to that," she whispered, leaning in to capture his lips for a moment of oblivion.

"Well, it starts tomorrow," he reminded against her lips, pulling her closer so that they were side by side. He reveled in the steady beating of her heart. "We leave in less than a day and then it's a new life for us, Hermione."

She was close enough now that she could see the hope in Draco's eyes and unable to keep the smile from her face, Hermione allowed herself to believe that this time, things would go right for them. She had made her choice she knew, and there was no going back. Her future was with Draco, come high or hell water.

"I know," she replied nodding and setting her jaw. "And there's no one else in the whole world that I'd rather have by my side. I love you."

He nodded.

"And I, you."

He kissed her forehead and the warmth that filled her lasted for the moments after, when he got dressed and put on his winter cloak to meet with Pansy one last time and ensure that their plan was as full-proof as possible. Outside the night sky was beginning to lighten to a gray and Hermione stood to kiss Draco goodbye at the small door leading from the flat.

"I'll be back soon," he promised and she watched him disappear down the crumbling, cement steps. Then she gazed behind her, at the small wand that lay on the dresser and clutched it tightly in her fingers.

Without another thought, Hermione followed after him, because she would protecting him if need be. Perhaps trusting Pansy was the only thing they had to hope for but that didn't mean she wouldn't be cautious.

* * *

><p>The sky began to lighten as Pansy slipped into one of the alleys near the Thames, the wind blowing something fierce and making her teeth chatter. It was always colder here, she mused. Perhaps it was the river. No one was about and the air was still, the streets empty and the sidewalks covered with a pristine, unadulterated blanket of white snow.<p>

She hurried along, marring the beauty with her heavy footsteps, her heart pounding within her chest viciously. Her mind was feverish with delirium and it was that and not much else that was keeping her warm. Astoria…Astoria and Marcus? Astoria loving Marcus this whole time while she was married to a man so much better-

"Unbelievable," she whispered in shock, her breath pluming in the early morning air. But what did it matter? Draco wouldn't be hers even if Marcus had run away with Astoria.

_And he won't, because he's in love with me._

What a cruel, fucked up place the world really was. Huddling down against the brutal wind, Pansy ran across the alley and turned the corner. Draco was waiting for her just as he had said he would, his black cloak billowing just slightly against the wind.

"I…"

There was too much on her mind and not enough time to actually _speak_and Pansy could only stare.

"Parkinson-"

She wondered if telling him about Astoria would help. Perhaps they could laugh about it and break the tension that had begun to build within her since Marcus' confession. It wouldn't matter if Draco knew or not; he had never loved his wife.

In the end, Pansy was too late and lost her chance to ever say a word. From behind them came a cruel, dry laugh.

"Well, well, well…someone's been lying to me."

Marcus looked paler in the morning light, his face ghostly against the black of his clothing and the black of the hair that haphazardly fell into his eyes. His bloodless lips turned up in a smile that never reached his eyes as he gazed on Draco.

"And here I thought you were dead, my friend. I fell to mourning, you know," he mocked softly taking another step towards the two that stood nearest the sidewalk. "I was so pained to know that we had lost such an asset to the cause."

Dark eyes glittered menacingly as Marcus advanced, stopping in the middle of the snow-covered street and lifting his wand. His tone mocked the truth.

"And here you are! Alive and well."

Draco carefully lifted up his wand aiming it at the other man.

"Take another step, Flint, and it'll be your last."

His words of warning died on the freezing air and were replaced by a cruel laughter from Flint.

"Or what?" he challenged. "What will you do? What more can you possibly take from me that you haven't already?"

"You're insane to even open your mouth, you sick, heartless piece of shit."

Somehow it was impossible to speak of the child that Marcus Flint had taken from him and Hermione even though he was desperate to say the words. Marcus' cruel laughter interrupted Draco's broken thoughts.

"If anyone is insane, Malfoy, it's you. Thinking you can fool the Ministry? Running off with your second whore, are you?" he asked, his eyes glittering as he glared at Pansy.

She had taken a step between the two men without thinking, her first instinct to protect what she had always treasured the most. It was not lost on Marcus; nothing she did or said ever had been.

"It's pathetic, Pansy. Here you are, still pining after some bastard who'd rather fuck a Mudblood in the streets than be with you!"

He was laughing and the wand wavered in his hand which was trembling with rage and pain. She lifted her chin, tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Nothing you say and no names you call me will change the fact that I will never love you," she hissed with menace. "You call me stupid and pathetic but you need only look at yourself in the mirror!"

The tears fell from her eyes, burning hot against icy skin.

"Shut up!"

"And you think-

"SHUT UP!" he hollered crossing the street and erasing the distance between them. His hand came up, roughly shoving Pansy out of the way because he would never, ever hurt her. Not Pansy, not the reason that he-

"Marcus!"

The breathless word caused them all to halt and Marcus turned, his head dizzy with anger and pain. Astoria stood on the other side of the street, her eyes wide and tears streaming down her face.

"Why did you follow me?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Why are you here? We finished this conversation didn't we?"

He shook his head faltering for the second that Draco needed to launch himself forward, at Flint, raising his wand high.

"Stupefy!"

The words fell from Draco's lips and with them the whole world seemed to fall into a horrific, slow motion. Draco saw the red light shoot out of his wand and towards Flint but at the same time he saw Astoria fling herself forward, pushing Flint out of the way and into Pansy who took the curse head-on.

Her small body was flung backwards and she was tossed into the air and fell to the icy ground with a heap. Was she dead? Had she hit her head on the way down? Moving quickly, Draco dropped to the ground on his knees just as he saw something that made his heart stop.

It happened too quickly.

"You bitch!" screamed Flint who launched himself at Astoria just as the raven-haired witch tried to dodge the clumsy attack. Holding Pansy's limp hand in his own, Draco stumbled to his feet to aid his wife.

It was too late. Before Draco could counterattack, the small street was filled with a flashing green light and Astoria screamed. It was over in two seconds and she lay dead on the ground whilst Marcus stood over her, trembling with rage and uncertainty.

"What did you do?" Draco managed, his eyes wide.

His wife was dead, lifeless on the frozen ground and he crawled across the space between them to touch her one last time.

"I didn't-"

Draco didn't give Marcus time to think or act, simply leaping up like a cat and grabbing him around the collar. Both men fell to the ground and Draco clung to Flint as if his life depended on it. After all, there was no telling what an insane man, especially one as sadistic as Marcus Flint, was capable of.

"Geroff me!" he hollered just as Draco delivered a swift kick to his groin, making the dark-haired man scream in pain. He rolled across the ground and then Draco began shooting curses at him, the alley filling with light over and over again. Marcus was stupid but he wasn't weak in a duel and he dodged Draco's unplanned attacks, fumbling forward on the pavement to get his bearings.

"Expelliarmus!" he screamed, flinging the attack over his shoulder and causing Draco to stumble and lose his wand. It gave Flint the moment he needed to leap back to his feet and aim more precisely.

He advanced like an animal, blood marring his bone-white face.

"They're planning a funeral for you, mate. Best not disappoint them," he spat, coughing up blood and raising his wand.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

But it wasn't Marcus' voice that filled the morning air. Instead, the lumbering man fell dead on the spot, dying with his eyes wide open. Draco's heart stopped beating and when it started he had never thought it could beat with such fury and speed.

Whirling around he stumbled and lost his footing falling into a heap on the ground.

Hermione stood in the middle of the street holding the wand that he had lost. Tears streamed down her face and she trembled but there was an unmistakable look of determination on her features.

"He killed our baby," she whispered before breaking down completely.

Behind them, Marcus was dead and no longer a threat. But now, Draco knew, the Ministry would be tracking who had used the Unforgiveable. Unfortunately, they were much more of a threat than Marcus ever had been.

And she had used _his_ wand. Thank Merlin…they would be after _him._


	45. Chapter 45

_Thanks guys for all your continued readership. And to EStruck who took the time out of her insane schedule to read and review this story up to it's most recent update, thank you; I really appreciate it and though I'd let you know here. It's daunting once you see the length. To those who have done the same and I don't know about it, I thank you too. This update contains violent imagery and dark themes. Just a warning._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p>For a moment, all was silent and the sad wind echoed along the sides of the buildings that lined the lonely, riverside alleyway. Draco stared down at the ground where Marcus Flint lay dead and then his eyes swiveled towards the horrific sight of his wife who lay in a crumpled heap, her face pressed against the snow.<p>

Both were inarguably dead, Flint's large, calloused hand brushing against Astoria's tiny, perfectly manicured one. It was a strange, twisted tableau of love gone wrong for they were tied together in death more than they ever had while living. Draco grimaced.

_It's how she wanted it. I never knew her; I never knew the woman who took my name because if I had I would have known she had loved him._

It was something Draco would not deny for seeing Astoria jump to Flint's defense mindlessly had spoken more than any words ever could. Draco couldn't move at the realization terrified as each precious second slipped between his fingers. The terror suddenly jolted him back into action and he looked up, his eyes widening.

Hermione stood framed at the entrance of the alley, the street behind her blessedly empty. It was the only thing to be thankful for, Draco realized. Had anyone else witnessed what had just transpired he was sure they would have both been long dead.

"Give me that," he urged, training his intent, silvery gaze at Hermione who stood still as death, the only sign of life in the glimmering tears that rolled down her pale cheeks.

"I didn't…oh, Gods…I-I didn't mean to-"

A part of Hermione sang a strange song of empowerment and triumph while another part warred against her satisfaction, for the ugly reality was before her. She had killed a man. No matter that he had been hateful and sadistic, out to get her and destroy her life. Still, she had killed a man. It didn't seem real; the situation was like something out of the horrific nightmares that had plagued her for many, long years. The fact that she had used a wand, and an Unforgivable was bad enough. What was worse was the fact that she had done so _willingly._Her mind fought against it but Hermione felt herself falling back into the recollection of the day in the row houses when Flint had made her torture all the imprisoned Muggle-borns. She had not forgotten the pain she had caused them and their faces were forever imprinted in her mind.

Now the source of her pain and nightmares lay dead on the frosty ground never to hurt another soul. She stared at him unbelievingly for a few moments, her heart threatening to pound so hard it would leap out of her chest and she fought a battle between elation and terror. Marcus Flint was dead; she hadn't meant to kill him and yet she had. It would not bring back the child she had lost but at least she had nothing to fear from him any longer.

"Give me that."

Draco's voice broke through her reverie and only then could she look up into his somber eyes. At his gentle request she felt herself relinquishing the wand although her frozen fingers didn't want to open.

"We've got to go."

His words were an urgent whisper and even though he gently pulled her forward, Hermione's feet would not move and her body seemed to have been petrified.

"They're all dead?" she managed to ask, looking around at the stark scene of death before her.

There hadn't been enough time to think! Draco had attacked Marcus and Astoria had pushed Pansy into the line of fire. And then…dead. Astoria had been dead and…

_I killed someone!_

"Hermione, please…we've-we've got to hurry. The Ministry will…"

She could hardly hear the urgency, the terror in Draco's voice. Only when he raised his voice and told her they might _die_did she begin to walk. It wasn't even a walk really, but a stumble. Holding onto Draco, Hermione felt herself lumbering forward as if she were a machine and not a flesh and blood human being.

It was then that they both saw the stirring on the ground. Pansy was awakening.

"We've got to help…"

Draco was on the ground as Hermione finished uttering the words knowing that now, more than ever, time was of the essence. Each second wasted was one the Ministry gained. And he knew that the Executioners would be after whoever had used his wand. Most of them probably believed he was dead…at least several days now.

But if they arrived here and saw him-

_I don't want to think of it. But I can't leave her!_

"Help me," he said, his teeth chattering and with clumsy, trembling fingers he pulled Astoria's cloak from her lifeless form and draped it around Pansy who was mumbling incoherently. The curse hadn't killed her; she had simply been stunned. Muttering under his breath, Draco uttered a charm to make Pansy weightless and then he stood, feeling himself unsteady on his feet.

"We can't waste another moment. We've got to get her somewhere for help and then…"

Hermione had to disappear. In the forefront of his mind that single thought was paramount for he had no misconceptions about the Ministry.

_I can hold them off until she's safe, and then I'll deal with them. I can do this. I owe her that at least, and my life at best._

"Come on," he urged once more, staring intently towards the street which still seemed empty. A few Muggle-repelling charms and no one would venture into this part of the alley but the Ministry would still be seeking him and Draco found himself terrified at what would happen if he should get caught.

Just then there was an audible crack from behind them and he whirled around to see three black, cloaked figures dashing towards them, wands raised.

"RUN!"

He shoved Hermione forward, shielding her escape with his body just as the alleyway lit up with flashing once more although this time Draco was much, much more scared. He ran, slipping at first and the gaining footing and momentum and the sound of his raging heart melted with the thumping of Ministry boots against snow-covered ground.

"RUN!"

He dodged one curse then another.

Hermione reached the street and he hoped against hope that somehow she would be free, that she could run although he had no clue where she would go. He only hoped-

Turning, he spun and slipped on the icy path, shooting one well-aimed spell at the man that led the chase. The counter-curse sent him reeling and Draco dropped his wand and flew through the air before hitting the cold, hard ground with a groan of pain. Something exploded against the side of the building and he heard Hermione's scream cut off in one, horrifying moment.

Then, there was nothing.

* * *

><p>The Executioners had found the bodies.<p>

"You heard didn't you? Astoria orchestrated the whole thing so that she could be with Marcus Flint-"

"-tragic really it is. Malfoy finding out that his wife was cheating on him with someone like Marcus-"

"-the way I heard it was that Malfoy orchestrated the whole thing so that he would have a good enough reason to kill his own wife-"

"-seems to me like Marcus and Astoria were having an affair and wanted to die together-"

Bellatrix Lestrange stalked up and down the marbled floor of one of the courtrooms in the bowels of the Ministry. She was sick of the rumors. She was tired of the whispered conversations. But most of all she was livid that her own flesh and blood, her silly, misguided nephew had managed to fool her!

Back and forth she moved and no one dared to get in her way lest she curse them. Indeed her wand was clasped tightly in one white-knuckled fist.

_Stupid, self-entitled imbecile! How is it that my blood flows in his veins?_

"Where is he?"

The screech sounded in the room and Bellatrix turned, her black eyes shining with mania.

"Where is that despicable nephew of mine?"

Someone cleared their throat.

"He's being brought down now, Madame Lestrange."

For a few long moments there was nothing but the sound of her shoes against the marbled flooring and then the sound of chains and scuffling. Bellatrix stopped and whirled to face the two double doors that flew open.

Dolohov and Fenrir stood framed in the doorway both still wearing snow-covered black robes and in between them was Draco bound and chained tightly. Even so, he struggled, making angry, animalistic sounds.

Bellatrix smiled.

* * *

><p>Hermione tasted blood. It was the first real, waking thought she had…<p>

_Am I dead? Where am-_

She looked around and found that she was in a small cell with large, rusted metal bars. The space beyond was empty, the cement walls a drab gray color. She blinked and tried to move and that was when she realized she was chained to the wall. Glancing up, Hermione could see a faint glint of light from a small window near the top of her new prison.

There was nothing else in the room…no bed, no sink, no place to sit.

_Where am I?_

"D-Draco-"

Her voice was hoarse and Hermione found her throat was raw. When no one answered her, she felt the sting of hot tears prickle her eyes. It wasn't that she feared being alone; she had gotten used to that long ago. It was simply that this time, it was different. This time she had been so close to freedom, so close to hope that she had nearly grasped onto it and held tight, unlike all the others times and failed moments in her life since the fall of the old Ministry.

She shifted, groaning as a sudden flash of pain ripped through her battered body. For a second she couldn't quite remember how she had gotten to this point but then the whole horrible recollection hit her and this time she did cry.

She had killed a man with Draco's wand and now…now the Ministry-

_Oh, God! Draco, I'm sorry. Draco…_

There was nothing but the rattle of her chain which bound her like the prisoner she now was.

* * *

><p>Bellatrix's sharp gazed never faltered from the bloody and bruised face of her nephew. She took long, purposeful strides around the chair to which they had bound him but each time she would return to face him again, glaring at him without mercy.<p>

"I'll ask you again," she hissed.

Draco did not move, dropping his head and avoiding the gazes of those in the room. He tasted blood and he felt the aching of every muscle in his body. He knew they had beaten him but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to him was that Hermione was no longer with him. What had they done to her? Where was she now?

_Where is she? If they hurt her, I'll-_

"I've let much go, Draco. Because you're my family and because you're such an asset to this organization and the plan of our Lord. I reconciled your strange choices this past year. I've accepted your excuses and your bizarre behavior. We tried to understand that what happened a few weeks ago at the alienage could not be helped. And I believed it when Miss Parkinson said you were dead."

She tapped her wand against the inside of her outstretched palm and it made a cracking sound in the silence of the huge room.

"But here you are…alive and seemingly well, yes? For some reason unknown to me and the rest of the Ministry, you've staged your own death, have you not?"

Draco did not reply and it made the woman standing laugh.

"It doesn't matter if you speak or not, Draco. The time to talk has ended. Now is the time to pay for everything you have done. Speak or don't speak, nothing will change."

Draco looked up to see the glittering eyes of his aunt peering into his own and it made him shudder. Fear was something he had long ago accepted and lived with. In fact perhaps it had been there long before the fall of the Ministry. But now it was palpable; it was a physical thing and not just an emotion and he felt it cripple him.

"And of what should I speak?"

His voice was hoarse and broken. He was weak and he hated himself for it.

The woman turned monster offered a smile that wasn't really a smile but more of a ghastly grimace.

"You can start by telling me what you were doing with that filthy Mudblood and why you are both still alive."

Draco groaned but said nothing, pulling a bit on the chains that bound him and left the chance of escape hopeless. The witch leaned down and used one perfectly manicured finger to tip Draco's chin up, leaving him with nothing to do but gaze into her face.

"I will not tolerate insubordination. Make no mistake, Draco. You are no better than anyone else in this Ministry. You faked your death. What happened at the alienage was your fault. You killed your wife and another Ministry official. And you convinced one of my closest officials to lie and cover for you."

Draco blinked but still remained silent, outwardly calm although a storm raged within him.

"_Explain__ yourself_."

The words were pointed and allowed for no misinterpretation. Bellatrix smacked her wand against the palm of her hand and then let out a strange laugh.

"If you do not, I'll have Fenrir deal with you."

She offered a smile to the wolf-like man who was grinning in the darkened corner of the courtroom. Draco made no sound and his face registered no emotion. In spite of feeling a deep-seated revulsion for Fenrir, Draco had long ago stopped fearing men like him.

"Nothing?" she questioned casually though anyone who looked closer could see that the wild haired witch was starting to crack just a bit. She snapped her fingers towards Fenrir.

"I'll find out what I want. One way or another."

Draco sat stone still, still bound by the chains to the old, wooden chair. His blood ran cold as his aunt's voice echoed through the room.

"Take me to the Mudblood. Now!"

* * *

><p>Hermione couldn't breathe. Staring at Bellatrix Lestrange was like being in a room without oxygen. Her vision blurred with each passing second and at first she was taking full breaths but within moments she was gulping for air.<p>

The woman on the other side of the bars stared at Hermione calmly. Her heavily lidded eyes took in the surroundings in a bored fashion and there was no emotion on her sharp, pale face although her thin fingers clenched the bars before her tightly.

"Marcus Flint and Pansy Parkinson were two of my best officials," she was saying in a voice that bellied softness and put Hermione on edge. The younger witch could only stare, for she was still bound tightly to the cement wall on the other side of her prison.

"Makes me wonder…makes anyone wonder how it was that all those Mudbloods escaped the alienage. Don't you think? I had been so sure that I put the right people in charge. In fact, I still think I made the right choices. The question remains…what happened that night?"

Bellatrix cocked her head, her face one of innocent curiosity that masked murderous intent. Hermione stared over her mane of wild, black hair keeping her face expressionless. Inside, her heart was hammering wildly and she could only hope that those that had escaped, all those in the WERA, Ginny and the children had gotten a good enough start to outrun the Ministry. If only that, she decided, then her own death would be worth it.

When she finally met the eyes of the Death Eater, Hermione could see her own death painted there. Maybe she'd join Ron and Harry sooner than she could ever have hoped. Perhaps she'd see Justin soon. The only regret she would have is leaving Draco behind.

"Don't have anything to say, do you?"

There was a click and a swish and the cell door swung open, creaking in the cavernous room just as Bellatrix stepped forward, towards Hermione. The woman chained did not flinch, instead lifting her chin defiantly and still refusing to speak.

"Over half of the Mudbloods escaped," she began, her voice a mere hiss as her eyes glittered in the shadowy space. "I have the Ministry on a chase after them as I speak. I'll find them."

Hermione felt a cool pressure and realized it was the other woman's wand that was beginning to uncomfortably dig into her shoulder. She glanced up swallowing back her fear. Bellatrix continued.

"For so many of them to escape under the eyes of my best officials they had to have had advance notice of what was going to happen. Now where would they have gotten that advance notice, hmmm?"

Hermione let out a cry of pain as Bellatrix yanked her forward savagely, pulling her by her hair. She closed her watery eyes. So this was it. She would die and for a moment she flashed back to all those nights she had prayed for death.

_I've prayed for death so many nights? Why I am afraid then?_

Bellatrix smacked her wand against the side of Hermione's already tender cheek.

"Do you think I'm stupid, you insignificant, disgusting piece of filth?"

_I'm coming home, Ron! Oh, Ron! Tell Harry and Molly I'm coming home! I'll be with all of you and Justin soon!_

Hermione refused to speak, pressing her lips and eyes tightly as she felt her whole scalp burn with pain as she was being yanked forward by Bellatrix's anger. Only one other time she had felt like this. Only one other time…

"Tell me, Mudblood…"

Hermione began to mewl.

"It wasn't m-me. I don't know who it was!"

For some strange reason Hermione found herself clinging desperately to the hope that she wouldn't die. Not quite yet. But what choice did she really have now? She would never rat out the WERA, she would never tell what Justin had told her or ever implicate Draco in any of what had happened. She would die for them; she would die for _him._

Suddenly the pain stopped and Hermione felt herself go limp against the coolness of the cement. Then, just as she opened her eyes she felt the crack against her jaw bone and the searing pain of the smack.

"Let me ask you again, you filthy bitch!"

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly staring at Bellatrix with tear-filled, pain-ridden eyes. But she said nothing.

"Have it your way."

Hermione braced herself for pain, for a beating, for the Cruciatus Curse but at first there was nothing and then she was alone. She opened her tear-logged eyes and felt herself shiver.

_What's next?_

* * *

><p>Pansy stared at her boss, her eyes wide with the realization of what she was being asked. Bellatrix stared back at Pansy with a smile that should have been pleasant but instead was menacing.<p>

"Must I repeat myself, Miss Parkinson?"

She stared at her wand with a bored expression.

"I want you to go in there and get the Mudblood to tell us everything she knows. You want to be exonerated for what happened that night, don't you? You want everyone to believe it wasn't you that caused the breakout?"

Pansy licked her dry, cracked lips, hating the way her voice sounded.

"It-it wasn't me," she squeaked. Gods, she hated her own weakness and the fact that all her actions reeked of fear!

"Well then…this will be the proof you need!"

Pansy felt the insides of her belly churn with disgust and fear and she realized that her conscience had never died but had been dormant for years, awakened only recently and now raging with a burning indignation. The worst thing was that no matter how she tried, it would not be silenced. He fear won the battle inside of her.

"H-have Draco do it."

Her whisper was clear and it made Bellatrix laugh with surprise and cold amusement.

"You weak little chit," she chastised. "Don't you have control over your weakened emotions?"

The question hung in the air and it made Pansy's already tortured soul cry out in frustration.

"I'm not weak!" she shot back hatefully. How she hated Draco! How she loathed his existence and yet could not deny that he was her downfall and weakness. How she hated the fact that when he walked into a room nothing else mattered! It was because of him that she was in this position! It was because of him that all of this had happened!

"It's his job! It's HIS alienage!"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed.

"You dare defy me?"

There was nothing but the hammering of Pansy's heart. Bellatrix raised her wand.

"I do not trust him. I fear that Mr. Flint was right the entire time and I have allowed my human weakness to rule me. I will not be fooled again. I won't have him in the same room with her."

She glared at Pansy, daring the younger woman to defy her.

"Go in there and get her to tell you everything she knows. Use any means necessary; I don't care if she lives or dies. When she finishes serving her purpose I plan on giving her to Fenrir as a plaything. She deserves a prize for the work he's been doing."

Pansy paled; she worked hard against the bile in her throat lest she retch all over the place. Trembling she turned towards the massive doors that led to the chambers where Granger was being held prisoner. Bellatrix was at her ear, whispering raggedly.

"Remember, any means necessary. I want to know what I can about the WERA. I want to know who was responsible for the breakout. I want to know where they are and I know that little bitch knows something. And that's why I don't trust Draco; he's been protecting her. I know it. Get her to tell you; get her to tell you everything."

Tears prickled behind Pansy's eyes.

"I can't," she muttered thickly and something sparked in Bellatrix's eyes.

"Then poor Draco dies. In fact, he might already be by now and this time for real. Do what you know you have to, Pansy."

Pansy swallowed, feeling trapped. She faced the doors wondering why she had ever believed she was free to do as she liked her whole life when the reality was that she had always been a prisoner.

* * *

><p>The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain; Draco lay on the ground somewhere within the Ministry buildings free to move but unable to do so. His body was battered and pain-ridden and somehow, during those long, innumerable moments, the Executioners had managed to make him forget his fear and despair over Hermione Granger.<p>

At first it had been well placed kicks and smacks to his body, causing him to wince and cry his pain aloud. Still, he would not speak or admit to anything. Then they had unbound him and the torture had truly started.

His pains were individual at first but after awhile he no longer knew what was happening and one ran into the other until his body sang a mournful, discordant song of suffering. They kicked and dragged him along the dirty, wet ground. They bruised him in places he had already been bruised; they cut him so that he bled. The mocked and derided him just like he was nothing.

_I am nothing! I am nothing if I'm not aligned with them and it took this to make me realize it!_

He closed his eyes against the onslaught but the more he resisted the harder they worked to break him. Some tore at his hair as they smacked him across the face. The others used their wands. There were only three, Draco knew, led by Fenrir Greyback, but it seemed like there were dozens and he was the only one trying to fight them. One against all the pain in the world.

"Come now, Draco," hissed Fenrir. His breath smelled of rancid flesh and through the searing aches, Draco gagged. "Is all of this worth whoever you're protecting?"

There was another harsh kick to Draco's lower body. He whimpered.

"I-I told you already….I-I don't know-know anything," he managed to spit out amidst breathing through his pain.

In the midst of all his suffering Draco began to feel a new, searing pain along his arm and Fenrir's hot, disgusting breath against his battered flesh.

"Are you sure about that?"

The words were muffled and Draco smelled blood.

_Oh, Gods, is he biting me?_

Draco felt his vision blur from hot tears of helplessness as he tried to crawl, to move, to squirm away from the source of his pain.

_That depraved, sick fuck!_

He took in a sharp breath of shock as another sliver of pain ran down his twisted arm and he felt his flesh tearing.

"Let me go!" he shrieked, kicking against Fenrir…against all of them although they held him down and the pain continued.

"Tell us what we want to know," said Greyback, pulling away and then delving in again, anew.

Draco screamed, the sound echoing along the stone walls.

* * *

><p>Hermione gasped, struggling against her bonds.<p>

"They sent you?" she asked in a whisper.

She had been sure that Death was near; perhaps it had taken the form of Bellatrix. But now…

Pansy sneered as she glared down at the fallen witch, taking in her pallid skin and the mess of dirty, chestnut-colored curls framing her face and falling along her thin shoulders. She wanted to feel disgust and contempt but the thin, white scars that lined the dirtied flesh were a painful reminder of what she had done.

_How can I feel disgust for her when I'm just as disgusting? I can't feel sorry for her when she's done nothing and I've-_

Pansy glared down at the ground fighting with emotions she didn't want to feel, seeing her wand tremble and remembering all the lives she had taken with it. And still would take. Perhaps even today.

"You mock me?" she whispered falling back into bullying mode. It was the only thing she had left. Make them fear you so they don't see your fear. Draco had always said that. Draco, who might be dead now. Draco…

The Granger girl didn't reply and instead pressed her lips together tightly and turned her head but not before Pansy saw the sparkle of her tears. And although she didn't want to she felt sorry for the woman she had so recently hated. She stepped forward.

"Tell them what they want to know, Granger."

Hermione turned to face the other woman, noting how white her face seemed to be, how heavy the dark circles under eyes that were full of sorrow and a heavy burden. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione whispered. She watched with growing terror as Pansy lifted her wand and her heart stopped. So maybe this would be the end. She closed her eyes tight.

"Diffindo."

The whispered word rang through the room and suddenly Hermione was aware that she was free and she brought her raw, tender wrists to her chest, rubbing them gently as she stared up at Pansy in shock. When she opened her mouth to speak however, nothing came out.

Pansy fell to the ground.

"I'm making myself perfectly clear, Mudblood. Tell them what they want to know."

"I don't know anything," she lied.

"But you DO! Everyone knows that Draco's hiding something and you KNOW what that is! Don't you know what they'll do to you?"

Her eyes were flashing with self-hatred and unbridled fury and Pansy gripped her wand so tightly she felt like her fingers would break.

Hermione remained stoic; she refused to let the other woman rattle her. All of this was a ploy; it had to be, for Hermione couldn't imagine a woman as horrid as Pansy trying to reason with her. It simply wasn't possible. And she would not turn in those she loved; she would not betray Draco. What Justin had told her, what she knew about the WERA was not the Ministry's business.

_I__'__ll __die __before__ I__ say__ anything._

"He's never told me anything," she whispered weakly, refusing to use his name and to acknowledge their connection. She watched in surprise as Pansy shook her head in defeat.

"I know," she began emphatically. "I know what you mean to him. I know what's between you. I know everything. He told me."

Hermione let out a strangled sound and stared at Pansy with wide, watery eyes. A part of her felt the rush of sweet relief whilst the other trembled in terror before the woman who had dealt her a multitude of suffering.

Pansy's face was a visage of nothingness as she spoke.

"They'll kill you."

"I know."

"Then you welcome death?"

"I'm not afraid."

"You're a fool. The more you resist the more they'll push to break you."

Hermione said nothing only watching Pansy unblinkingly. She only spoke awhile later, her words hard.

"Do what you've come to do," she managed to say, her lips trembling. "Do what you've always _wanted_ to do."

She closed her eyes and waited only to be surprised that she was still alive a few seconds later. When she opened her eyes again Pansy was gazing back at her and the look in her eyes was heartbreaking. Hermione found herself confused and troubled and when Pansy finally spoke it seemed like a lifetime had passed. Her voice was cracked and uncertain.

"I can't."

Her word were simple.

"He loves you too much."

Hermione felt her heart breaking at the way that Pansy spoke, and marveled at the selflessness that she had not believed she would ever had possessed.

"If you don't do this for yourself, do it for him."

The two women gazed at one another as Pansy's words died in the shadowed space.

"They'll kill him, too. They're doing it now. They want to know what he's hiding and they believe he's been protecting _you._ Is that how you want all of this to end? If he dies, surely you will too. Haven't you been alive thus far because of him? Aren't you living for him? Aren't we of the same mind on two sides of a wall that will never come down?"

Hermione stared, tears slipping down her cheeks.

* * *

><p>Through the red haze of pain Draco wasn't sure when he began to be aware of sounds and voices again. He was spent; his body worn and battered, tossed aside like a rag doll covered with blood and dirt.<p>

"STOP!"

The shriek was commanding and it caused those who were slowly destroying him to pause and then cease their seemingly endless tortures. Only then could Draco draw a proper breath, though it was accompanied by a pain so great it made him want to wail out his agony. But he couldn't for his he had gone hoarse from screaming.

He laid on the cold ground his heart hammering unable to do anything but whimper.

"I said to question him not to KILL him!"

He recognized the voice then; it was his aunt and she was on a rampage. From his vantage point on the ground Draco could make out hazy outlines of men in long robes and his aunt pacing in front of them as she raged.

"You blood hungry imbecile!" she spat. "You think you have the right to take a life, do you? You think you can do what you want and go against my specific orders?"

"No, we were only-"

Fenrir's voice rang out in the room, the sound both gleeful and fearful at the same time. It made Draco shudder and even the goose bumps that rose up on his flesh caused a prickling pain.

"You question him, not MURDER him! Get out of my sight! Out of my sight, I tell you!"

There was scuffling and then a cry as Bellatrix lifted her wand.

"Stupefy!"

A flash of light and then a heavy thud. Then all was silent.

Draco awoke to the sight of his aunt watching him warily, her heavily-lidded eyes bearing a strange, bored expression.

"Ah, you're awake."

It was odd, he realized, trying to move. Her voice had never been so soft. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out but a painful whimper. His throat was raw and when Draco tried to move his body it screamed in protest.

"Fenrir was too…zealous."

Draco blinked. There was no apology; there was nothing to signify that she _cared._There was nothing but an unattached interest. He swallowed, wincing. Then he tried to speak again. When the words came, they were a hoarse whisper.

"W-what happened?"

She ignored his question, advancing on him with menace.

"Do you need another reminder of who is in charge, nephew?"

Draco remained silent.

"Why did you fake your own death?"

"Because I wanted to catch Astoria in the act," he lied hatefully. "And I DID. They deserved to die for marring the Malfoy name."

Draco was weak and dizzy but he could only hope his answer would be satisfactory. Bellatrix eyed him with suspicion and then tapped her wand against her palm for a moment.

"Be that as it may, you had no right to attack another Ministry official."

Draco sneered trying not to move because the pain was unbearable.

Bellatrix watched him.

"Tell me what you know about the night of the fire, Draco."

"I know nothing."

This was said whilst he gritted his teeth against the pain. The wild-haired witch stepped forward.

"I think you're lying."

He glared at her with defiance in spite of his pain.

"I don't care what you think," he hissed.

Bellatrix offered a curious smile and paused for a moment before continuing.

"Of _course_ you don't."

Suddenly she moved forward, gripping Draco by the shoulder hard and causing him to cry out in pain and surprise. Dragging him into the damp, shadowed hallway she stopped by two run down doors. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision he had only a second to glimpse what was before him; Hermione sat in a rusty cell chained to the wall.

His heart stopped. Bellatrix waited gleefully, holding her breath.

"But do you care about _her?__"_

Draco stared. Hermione looked terrified, confused and helpless. To her left stood Fenrir and to her right, Dolohov.

Bellatrix smiled.

"Now…you can prove once and for all where your loyalties lie, yes?"

He stood statue still feeling the movement of air against his bruised flesh as she stood behind him, whispering against his ear.

"Go in there and do what you must. She will die anyway, Draco. Surely you knew that already. But before I toss her over to Fenrir for a plaything I want to know what she knows. If you know nothing about what happened that night, then why did we find you with her? Why is she still alive? Why have you been showering her with your attentions?"

He turned his pounding head in Bellatrix's direction all color draining from his face and his mouth going dry. The smile that she offered him this time was terrifying; it told him all he needed to know.

"You're insane if you think there's anything between-"

Someone smacked him viciously, silencing any further thoughts Draco might have had. His eyes watered.

"You have twenty minutes," Bellatrix said gleefully. "And we'll be waiting, Draco. Don't disappoint us. We wouldn't want to _kill_ someone, now would we?"

The laughter followed her out of the room and then it was just Hermione and Draco.


	46. Chapter 46

_This chapter encompasses only a few moments of time, both at the train station and within Hermione's prison. I've set it up to introduce the character of Neville mostly, but also to kind of bring together the hopelessness of Hermione and Draco's places in the world. I thought I'd post it before Christmas. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER FORTY-SIX<p>

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><p>The shrill sound of the whistle echoed along the stone walls of the train station as the massive locomotive pulled into the station. It whined down to a crawl and then stopped with a rush of air that rose and melted into the frigid night air.<p>

He knew how to spot those who were coming from England; he had long ago memorized the expression on their faces, the fear, the uncertainty and sometimes even the hope. The hope was the best, he decided. It meant that not everyone had given up just yet and that was important. There would be no one to fight against the wizarding Ministry in England if they all gave up.

Sometimes Neville Longbottom wondered if he had given up. He liked to think he hadn't but there were dark moments of fear when he wished he had died with his parents and his Gran. But they were long dead now and he wasn't and sometimes one had to buck up and keep going. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy. It hadn't been easy since his Hogwarts days and the few moments in the Department of Mysteries when he had thought he would die. One would think after something like that, the rest of life would be a breeze. Too bad it wasn't like that.

He shoved his wide, long-fingered hands into the deep pockets of a black, woolen winter coat just like those ones that the Muggle businessmen wore during the cold months. He liked looking like a Muggle; it helped him fit into the norm and took attention away from what he was doing. And what he was doing required anonymity especially if the Ministry ever got wind of where all the Muggle-borns were going.

Shortly after the whistle had blown humanity began to flow out of the train and onto the platform. Neville stepped forward; he was a short, slightly pudgy figure in a long black coat and a matching hat that covered thick, messy hair and deep, kind eyes.

This time he wasn't looking for refugees. This time it was for a much happier reason. This time he was looking for Luna Lovegood Scamander.

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><p>Hermione stared at Draco her breath catching. The tears stopped coming as her eyes widened in shock.<p>

"What have they done to you?" she gasped, choking on her words.

He seemed whole, although his pale, beautiful flesh was marred by purplish bruises and pink swelling. His winter cloak and the clothes he was wearing were still matted with blood and dirt although the rest of him seemed somewhat cleaner. Draco had been beaten and then shoddily put back together and the pathetic sight of him stirred something deep within Hermione making her want to weep and dry heave all at once. The emotions were so intense she found herself glad that she was seated, for she wasn't sure her legs could have supported her frail weight.

"We don't have much time," he replied raggedly, wishing that his head would stop spinning so much because he felt himself quelling the urge to vomit in the corner of her cell.

Each step, each breath, every single move made his body cry out in surrender. Death seemed a blessing and Draco couldn't remember a time when he had ever felt like this. Falling from grace had been unheard of and now he had fallen hard – so hard he felt broken into a thousand aching pieces.

"I won't tell them anything. Don't ask me to. Please."

Her words were hard and final and his response was a mewl of protest for he had little energy for more than that. Hermione saw his shadowed eyes glitter with tears.

"Do you know what they've sent me in here to do?" he hissed.

A part of him wanted to grab her, to choke some reason into her, to destroy the stubbornness that lived in her soul. Draco wanted to make her understand where they were and what was happening. The other part wanted to pull her and crush her to him so that he could find the oblivion that he sought within her arms.

Instead he trembled, feeling a vicious pounding to the back of his head, like a heavy bass drum. It bloody hurt.

"Do you know what they'll do to you if I don't?"

His words were squeaky and he saw the flickering of emotion across her face, the flash in her cinnamon-colored eyes.

"I'm dead either way, aren't I?"

He took a step forward.

"Tell me what they want to know, Hermione."

"You'll have to force it out of me," she replied calmly gazing at him without wavering. "It's what you've been sent in here to do, so you'll have to do it."

Draco stared at her for a moment and then he broke apart inside, exploding like something fragile, like something made of delicate glass.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Do you know what you're saying-"

He gagged for a moment.

"You'd want me to beat you and torture you? To murder you just like they want me to?"

Tears burned down his aching face and his tone was a mixture of pain and revulsion as he glared at her.

"Do you hate me that much?"

Hermione was crying silent tears.

"Not you," she whispered. "Them. _Them._ I hate everything they stand for and everything they are. They've destroyed me; they've destroyed everything and anyone they touched and I will joyfully die before I say anything to help _them.__"_

She tried to reach out, to pull the chained hand towards his, her fingers trembling just as her lips parted. He shoved away from her with vehemence and disgust.

"Them?" he yelled back. "Are you bloody fucking stupid, Hermione? I AM THEM!"

Tears of pain and rejection coursed down her face.

"Then prove it why don't you! Kill me now! Isn't it why they sent you in here?" she questioned hatefully but with more than a little fear and accusation. "Pansy wouldn't do it, you know. Even she's terrified."

Draco ran a hand through his fine, messy strands feeling fingers of panic reaching for his heart, trying to bring him down, to lock him, to destroy the last remnants of hope that he had.

"Yes," he said emphatically as he fell to his knees before her with a groan of pain. Her trembling fingers found his and she squeezed his hand to silence him. But his silence did not last.

"Yes, that's why they sent me here," he continued in the same, panicked whisper. "But you can stop this madness, don't you see? They want information more than they want you dead! It's not just about your hatred for the Ministry or all of my mistakes, Hermione. Other lives are at stake!"

She snorted with contempt.

"You mean lives within the Death Eater Ministry?" she scoffed pulling her hand from his roughly. "You might as well do it now because if that's the case, I'll never speak again."

He ignored her stubbornness, swallowing away another hateful reply and pushing forward.

"You can tell them something…anything, can't you? Yes! You can use Flinch-Fletchley's name…tell them it was him! He's dead, so what's it matter now?"

Just the mention of Justin's name sent Hermione's heart into a tailspin and she couldn't even speak for a few moments for her guilt and pain were so great. Had it been her fault? Had she caused all her friends and loved ones such pain simply by her being a Muggle-born? One think she knew for certain was that never would she give away those that had loved her.

Sighing, Hermione gazed at Draco and her expression begged for understanding.

"Even if I knew everything how could I turn my own people in?" she wailed. "How could you make me do something like that? How could I ever live with the guilt of a compromise with such evil? They're free! Let them be; Ginny, the children, Dean…Kingsley…all of them deserve that!"

Draco leaned against the wall next to her feeling lightheaded.

"Just a name, Hermione, please…" he begged.

"What good would it do? I don't know anything."

"You know enough."

"I don't know anything."

"You're lying!" he exclaimed, choking for a second on the breath that followed. It rattled in his lungs. "Just like you lied to yourself all those weeks, denying your feelings for me and what was happening between us!"

Hermione felt like she was smacked and for a moment she couldn't speak. He leaned across the distance between them, his dirtied hands running along the rusted chains that bound her and then allowing his fingers to get tangled in the confines of the loose, wild hair around her shoulders. Helpless to him, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she felt his face pressed against hers; his warm and hers cool. Even under such circumstances she felt at peace and she held onto that sliver of emotion for as long as she could, before it slipped away once more.

"This is different," she hissed thickly, forcing herself away from his warmth lest he pull her under his spell. She would not be convinced.

"This is me protecting the people who protected me! I can't turn on them. Remember? You told me months ago that if it was a choice between the Ministry and me you'd choose the Ministry? Well this is the same thing! I'll die first!"

Draco stared at Hermione.

"No! I don't believe it's just about that! How do you know that protecting them now will help them later if you're dead? You _know_ this isn't just about that!"

She watched, pained, as he struggled to a standing position and she could barely stand the pain on his face.

"Please just do what you came to do," she begged tearfully, closing her eyes against the sight of him. "Please…"

"You want to die so much you don't even give a damn about the fact that I have to be the one to do it?"

Guilt assaulted her and Hermione wished for death more fervently than ever before. If death came, there would be no more guilt.

"It's better this way, don't you see?" she begged him and when Draco looked at her he saw that she had lost all hope now. She was just a shell of the woman he loved so much it hurt. "If you do it, I mean. That way I'm with you when it happens and they won't get the satisfaction-"

Draco whirled on her his face flooding with indignant color and eyes flashing a stormy gray.

"Stop this insanity!" he screamed at her, his fingers reaching over to clasp her thin shoulders in their grip, tightening almost painfully against her flesh. She only whimpered with discomfort waiting for the moment. She didn't care; she wasn't ashamed. She only wanted death.

"Stop this, Hermione," he begged as he fought tears. "You've got so much life in you! You've got something to live for!"

She snorted with contempt and a sudden flash of self-hatred and despair.

"What does a woman like me have to live for?"

Her voice was broken and shameful.

"I'm a Mudblood and no one will ever see me otherwise," she sobbed. "I put my family in danger and my husband died because of who I am. I put Ginny's children in danger and one of them was tortured by the Ministry because of me! Justin died because of me!"

Her voice grew tremulous and angry.

"What does a whore have to live for?" she asked him hatefully. "Especially one who shamed herself with a Death Eater and a married one at that!"

The hateful, unbelievable words fell from her lips and shattered him completely. For a moment he was still and then his hand came up, smacking her across the face in his rage.

"How could you say that?" he cried out. "After what we've shared? After we found love amidst such darkness?"

She watched the disgust on his face and fought to remain strong against her guilt as he spoke.

"If Ron could see you now he'd roll over in his grave!"

Hermione gasped at Draco's words and the disdain with which he uttered them. Her hand came up as she let out a strange wailing sound. He felt the sharp blow as the palm of her hand connected with his face. His eyes closed at the impact and when he opened them again she was glaring at him, her body taut and pulling against her metal bonds.

"You loathsome bastard!"

"You selfish bitch!"

"Go to hell!"

Draco realized how hopeless the situation was; he could see now that he was fighting with the only person in the whole, cruel world that he loved. And somehow the Ministry was destroying even something as pure as that. He had prayed...he had hoped that their feelings were untouchable but the words, her slap, his actions were tainting the purity, smearing it with the darkness that had taken over the rest of the world.

"I'm ALREADY THERE!" he screamed in frustration, color lighting up his pale face.

"Don't you see, Hermione? We're BOTH there! THIS is hell. This is torture and we're allowing it to destroy us just like the Ministry is destroying everything else! And you have a way to help us! You can tell them what you know and spare us this…spare ME this living hell! But you won't because you'd rather die!"

Tears of anger burned down her face as Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"There's not guarantee!" she raged back. "Even if I do betray the WERA and tell you what I know they won't let me live even if I WANTED to!"

"But at least you'd die trying, wouldn't you? Why should be sit back and let them kill us when we can fight them the whole time?"

She began to sob in earnest.

"There's no point. They'll kill us in the end and I'm so tired, Draco! So tired!"

"There's death all around us, every day. You've seen it and God knows I have even though everyone thinks I've had it so easy! The truth is that they won't allow anyone to live in peace! They've stolen our lives and our souls and now they're trying to destroying everything else that we have and hold dear! There's death and misery all around us and yet, somehow, you're still alive!"

The tears slowed as Hermione's face changed from one of anger to one of disbelief.

"You'd act like the fact that I'm still alive is a privilege?"

"Isn't it?" he mocked. "When all others around you are dying, isn't it a blessing that you still live?"

"Shut UP!"

"No, _you_ shut up and listen," he spat. "You're alive and you can still fight to stay that way and help others who have lost hope. Because of you and what you are I've found new meaning and I'll die first before I'll let you just…give up like this!" he exclaimed with vehemence, grasping her hand on the dirty, mildewed stone floor between them.

"You saved me and in turn, I took care of you."

She yanked away from him, trembling.

"Shut up."

"I fed you."

"Don't you say another word-"

"I clothed you and protected you while everyone around you-"

"Why won't you shut your bloody mouth!" she shrieked fighting against her bonds and the guilt that raged in her heart.

He was right; she had given up and for that she felt guiltier than she could ever have imagined. Ron was dead and so was Harry and more would die before this was over and she was still alive and if there was anything to be thankful for-

"And you want to die," he spat. "How shameful!"

"Get away from me!"

Draco managed to stand, his head spinning.

"What about Ginny's children?" he asked in a whisper. "Their grandmother, uncles and father are dead."

Hermione's body jerked visibly at the mention of the Potter children and Draco took the opportunity to play this new side of her emotions, swallowing the guilt that he felt at doing so.

"How many Weasleys are left, Hermione? There's only one twin left and what of the older ones?"

He paused, thinking about Blaise and the WERA for a moment and wincing at what he was about to say.

"They had a funeral last month. For Percy and Arthur Weasley. God knows that family is massive but how soon before they've all fallen for the cause and those kids are alone and orphaned?"

Hermione's face, when she looked up at him, was a painting of bleak brokenness and pain. He hated himself at the sight of it.

"Potter would want you to take care of those children; Ginny, too, if anything ever happened to her. All you've done, everything that you've gone through has been for THEM. Why do you want to give up now after all that? You can fight this, you can fight for the children and when you're free, you can find them again!"

He fell once more to his knees before her, his eyes begging.

"Please, fight now. I know you've been dealt blow after vicious blow and I know it hurts. I've long ago stopped feeling anything but numb until you walked into my life, Hermione. You have to find it in you to try and continue. For the children…and even for me, even though Merlin knows that I'm a part of this damned mess."

She was cracking; he could see her relenting, see the way her face softened as she gazed up at him and her dirty, trembling fingers reached to stroke his face tenderly.

"The children and you were my only reasons," she whispered and he caught a ghost of the light that shone deep within her. "My only reasons," she repeated breathily. "I'm just so afraid."

"I know," he replied, pulling her close against his body for a few, precious seconds. "I know. And I know I'm asking a lot of you," he continued plaintively. His fingers gently brushed aside rogue curls from her tear-streaked face so that he could see her better. Her eyes reflected reluctance and fear.

"There's very little reason for you to do this," came his admission. "Except that I'm telling you to, and you've trusted me. I'm asking you. Hermione, I'm _begging _you."

She bit her lip a choked sob escaping her. She sounded small and lost.

"I'm sorry I said those things about you. I love you, you know that…and I didn't mean it."

"And I'm sorry I hurt you. Over and over again."

She touched his face once more.

"Forgive me?"

"Tell me what you know," he whispered, holding his breath.

Hermione wondered if God would forgive her; she wondered if Ron and Harry would approve if they could see her. She knew that it was evil, turning in her own but if something happened to Ginny and the Weasleys that were still alive –

_Oh, Gods, are Arthur and Percy really dead - ?_

She would need to fight; she needed to try and stay alive in case…just in case.

"Justin told me…it's Kingsley," she admitted. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lee Jordan and Seamus Finnigan.

_Forgive__ me,__ God. __Forgive__ me__ Harry __and__ Ron. __I__ have__ to __do__ this.__ I__ have__ to._

Draco's rigid, white face melted into relief, the edges softening, his jaw relaxing and his lips opening to speak. He looked positively weak from relief. But before he could actually speak, there was a strange yelping sound beyond the doors and then a laugh. A moment later there was a heavy thud and then the doors beyond the cell flew open. Fenrir stood framed in the doorway, his dark eyes flashing menacingly as his cracked lips turned up into a smile. Draco shuddered; the man looked more like an animal than a human. He charged at them, wand still aloft, the grizzly lines of his face turned down in determination and hatred.

"Time's up, poppet!" he called out to Hermione, his sugared tone marred with poison.

Hermione's eyes filled with fear and stubbornness and hanging her head she mumbled something and Draco could only stand statue still and pray…oh God, he was praying that she say something.

_Say it. Say it…oh fucking Merlin on high, SAY IT!_

"The WERA is being led by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Lee Jordan. They have a hideout somewhere in London and they're the ones who broke into the alienage. You'll need to find them. That's all I know."

Fenrir had shoved Draco out of the way and Hermione could smell him; it was a strange, metallic scent…body odor and something _else._

"Is that so?" he asked, his shadow falling on the tiny woman that was crumpled in the wet, moldy corner.

His wand traced a line down her shoulder and into her long, curly hair. She was a sweet thing; she was sweeter in some ways even than Astoria Malfoy. The late Malfoy had been beautiful in an obvious way but this Mudblood, she was beautiful in ways that could not be described. She was a tiny, burning light amidst the darkness that the world had been plunged into. She was hope when the Ministry would have wanted hopelessness. She represented all the sodding good left in the world and Fenrir decided that having her in every way possible would be pleasant indeed. When they were done with her she would be his. Just like all the Mudbloods before her. He would take great pleasure in playing with her and then taking her apart piece by piece.

"And where, pray tell, can I find them, Poppet?" he growled out, moving slowly to crouch next to her.

Hermione fought with great difficulty not to gag, and setting her jaw she glared into his black, soulless eyes.

"I told you, I don't know."

Her voice was clear and unwavering. Fenrir offered a husky chuckle.

"That's not good enough then, is it?" he asked, pointing the wand at her. "Some live and some die…but you already know that, don't you, Mudblood?"

Draco sprung into action, knocking Fenrir's sinewy arm off balance so that the hairy man turned, glaring at him with contempt.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? I daresay you're in no bloody position to be touching me, are you?"

He advanced on Draco a moment.

"I wasn't going to really kill her, mind you. I want her alive for later," he growled huskily, his long, snake-like tongue running along the lines of his ragged lips. "You know what I mean."

Then he offered a grimace.

"But you…well, I never did decide what to do with you though Madame Lestrange is going to see you both dead anyway. I reckon she won't mind if I'm the one to start the festivities."

Draco moved until his beaten body hit against the wall and then for a moment he saw his whole, miserable, cold, unfeeling life flash before his eyes. Death had arrived, but Gods, he was glad that they had TRIED to stay alive. He only wished he were holding Hermione's life-saving hand while it happened.

The screams started then, angry, indignant screams that echoed down the long corridor and made Draco's head hurt. The three in the prison cell whirled around, Draco's face hopeful and Fenrir's one of surprise.

"What in the name of Voldemort-"

There was a crash and then light filled the corridor…green and then red. There was yelling and another thud and before Fenrir could make a dash for the doors Pansy flew into the room, out of breath.

"Stupefy!" she cried out.

At the sight of her, Draco suddenly realized that in spite of the darkness, there WAS still a God.

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><p>Neville spotted Luna over the crowds because she wore a queer little pink cap over her long, thin hair. There was also a scarf to match and the set brought out the gray in her lovely eyes.<p>

"Luna," he called out, lifting one large, awkward hand waving it so that she wouldn't miss him. Not that she could, anyway. He wasn't exactly the kind of bloke one missed…a bit too short, a bit too heavy and much too ungainly. As she approached him a smile lighting up her face, Neville nearly tripped over the lumpy bag of a disgruntled looking man in front of him.

After he excused himself, Neville reached Luna and she hugged him tightly.

"Neville!" she exclaimed and then pulled away, studying him critically. "That hat is covering your head but I can tell you didn't get a haircut!"

Neville found himself turning a bit pink from her scrutiny but he couldn't help the smile that was on his face. He rather liked it when Luna noticed those little things; it made him feel like she cared for him as more than a chum. It helped the ease the small ache in his chest where he had nursed a crush on her from the time they had been in school. Luna had been the first girl to make Neville feel like more than just a boy; she had made him feel like a hero after what had happened to them, Harry, Ron and Hermione and the others in Dumbledore's Army.

"The most sought after Healer in all of Wales can't be going around with a proper trim, you know," she added playfully, leaning up to give him a kiss on his plump cheek.

It was these things that warmed Neville's heart. She was playful and kind. She had been his friend for years but something about the way Luna was often made Neville feel like they could have been something else even though they never had been. She had gotten married to another bloke; she had given birth to twin boys. It was never going to be the way Neville had imagined. Not that he was truly disappointed; he had never been the kind of bloke women dated anyhow and over the years he had gotten used to that. In fact, the only woman that had ever really noticed him had been Pomona Sprout. Neville had never thought on it much but in the grand scheme of things it was rather pathetic for any man to only be noticed by his Herbology professor.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, Neville offered Luna a lopsided smile, his cheeks flushing.

"Well then I suppose you'll have to take me to a barber."

She giggled at this; he rather liked her giggle because it reminded him of better times. It reminded him of when they had been just first years at Hogwarts and although they had known that evil existed (after all, she had seen her mother die and he had been raised by Gran because of what had happened to his parents) they hadn't been _faced_ with it quite yet. They hadn't known how evil could darken everything in life and wipe joy and smiles from the faces of their friends. And erase the sound of laughter.

And now Harry was dead and much of the hope that had rested in his life was gone, crumbling along with the wizarding world that had fallen to Voldemort. These were dark times. Impossible times for the Muggle-borns and difficult for those that were fortunate to be called pureblood.

_Except I don't feel fortunate! I'd give up my status if I knew my friends were safe and sound!_

That's why he had kept in touch with those in London. Neville had felt like a coward at first (that never seemed to be far from his mind) because he had looked into the eyes of evil (and he really had because Voldemort had been _right __there)_ and then left Hogwarts and Scotland behind.

Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny had gotten away or so he had heard. There had still been hope then. Some of his friends had died, but he had been happy to know that most of them had gotten away. Some had fled to London and others to places he knew not. It wasn't like he had been connected to any of them anyway and during the panic that had ensued after the fall of Hogwarts; no one had cared where he had gone anyway.

So he had fled to Wales.

And at some point continued on with his education hoping to become a Healer because his Gran had always said he would be good at that. Plus, Neville had always secretly believed that Healers were like Angels. He liked the idea of being an angel. Some people fought on the battle lines. But there needed to be those who would help them when they were wounded. That's what Neville had decided _he_would be. His Gran had told him warm, whispered stories of those who were secret angels, helping when all seemed hopeless. Gran was gone now and so were his parents but that didn't mean that he hadn't taken her words to heart. He had, and he was trying to be hope in the darkness.

Luna slipped her hand (covered in a bright pink mitten) into his. She smiled up at him and Neville thought that in such moments, he had made the right choice.

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><p>Hermione let out a rush of shocked air as Pansy dashed over Fenrir's body.<p>

"Hurry!" she rasped as Draco sprung into action, his heart racing furiously.

"Diffindo!" he whispered, his voice quavering with each heartbeat.

Just as before, Hermione felt her bonds breaking and she tried to move as quickly as possible though her arms and legs felt thick and useless in the face of such desperation. Stumbling over the fallen monster's body, she followed Draco and Pansy.

The hallway towards the doors seemed a mile away and no matter how quickly they moved it didn't seem _fast_ enough. Perhaps it was because he knew how desperate the situation was or the fact that he was suffering from the earlier tortures.

As they neared the doors the fallen body of who was obviously Bellatrix lay in the way.

"Just go," hissed Pansy as Draco slowed, his eyes taken on a shocked look. "I stunned her but we don't have much time!"

Draco hesitated turning around.

"Draco!"

"No, we have to buy more time. If I just…"

He pointed his wand.

"Obliviate!" he whispered. For a moment he could only stare down at the Death Eater's body until Pansy yanked on his dirtied sleeve.

"Hurry!" she urged again. "The others will be down soon; they've heard the commotion because Bellatrix put up a fight."

Without another word or thought to what had happened or what they were moving forward to face, Draco reached for Hermione's hand the trio hurried out of the bottommost confines of the Ministry and fumbled with fear towards the light.


	47. Chapter 47

_I hope everyone had a lovely holiday! I wish you all a happy new year as well. And thank you for all your reviews and joining me on this writing journey. In this installment Dramione finally escape! And we get a bit more insight into why Neville is where he is. Enjoy. The next arc of this story is coming and I don't know what you will all think about it. Until next time!_

_LCailan_

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><p>CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN<p>

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><p>Neville and Luna sat on one of the overstuffed sofas in the tearoom of the Frank and Alice Memorial Medical Center watching steam billow out of their mugs of hot chocolate. Neither had said much on the way back from the train station but that wasn't unusual. In fact, Neville rather liked their comfortable silences; he had never been one to talk much and Luna understood that. She understood a lot of things which is what had made her a good friend.<p>

His heart winced a little at the thought and he took a sip of his beverage to cover up his sudden discomfort. Even one marriage, two children and a world of time hadn't really helped ease the stinging ache of rejection. He had been Neville the friend, the classmate, the confidante, but never the lover.

He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye as he took another hot swallow.

"Something's wrong isn't it?"

The softness of his voice was magnified by the silence in the room around them. It was late and most of the patients were asleep in their rooms on the floors above them. Visiting hours were not until daylight and so the tearoom was completely empty except for them.

Luna glanced at Neville then and pursed her lips.

"No, I don't really think so," she began with hesitance. Neville sensed much in her tone; she sounded confused and worried and more than a bit disturbed.

"You don't think so?" he questioned in a gentle manner, offering an ear in case she needed it without actually saying so.

He set down his mug and then ran a scarred hand through messy brown hair, his eyes trained on Luna who was biting her lip thoughtfully as she ran one finger around the rim of her mug. She took a breath and then let it out.

"It's just…the Alliance, you know? Lately I feel like there's no unity anymore. I'm afraid that we won't meet the goal we were hoping to if we're focused on…other things."

Neville paused, searching for the right thing to say. He didn't think of the WERA much; he wondered often if he had made the wrong choice in moving to Wales and starting the hospital. Perhaps they had needed him on the front lines just like they had needed him at Hogwarts.

"Other things?" he echoed then the words a prompt for her to continue.

"We're all tense, you know? Like there's something hanging over us that we can't quite get rid of. My father always told me that if you let the Nargles-"

Neville patiently interrupted Luna with a touch of his hand and then he spoke.

"Luna, the Nargles won't make everyone crazy," he assured, his tone one of understanding. He had long ago gotten used to Luna's often bizarre ways of thinking and now even found her nonsensical rambling endearing because it reminded him of happier times at school.

Now she turned away, her cheeks flushing a bit.

"I know but it's just that we're all fighting amongst each other and I worry."

Neville reached across to her and then their linked hands swung easily in the space between them. Hers was as pale as her long, wispy hair and soft gray eyes and his was scarred with memories of the last several years.

"Stop worrying then," he advised. "It's difficult as it is."

"But you don't know what I've seen."

"You know I understand," he reminded her. "I've seen my share of pain and death, Luna. And you and I both know that the best way to fight the Ministry is to have faith. They want us to feel helpless and crush whatever life is still left in us. But we can't let them do that."

Luna watched Neville for a moment, the way his eyes seemed to light up from within as he grew determined and always the endless faith he had in their cause. In some ways he was still the untouched boy that she had known at Hogwarts, faithful and loyal to his friends and what he believed in.

Luna's warm fingers squeezed Neville's tightly and he felt a flurry of comfort settle upon him in the silence of the room. Soon enough the hot chocolate was gone and the night had grown quite late.

"We can apparate to my flat unless you'd rather just stay here?" he offered glancing at her in the semi-darkness. Luna offered a smile, seeing his face lined with weariness.

"You look tired tonight," she replied. "Why don't we stay here?"

He had a visitor's quarter; it wasn't much, just a few rooms with beds and a few shelves for belongings but both of them were too tired to want to go anywhere right then and the snow had started coming down harder.

After Neville left her to change into her nightclothes, Luna padded along the floor in her bare feet towards the window which offered the blue and white light of the night sky and the faded moon in the distance. She gazed on it for a moment and got the distinct feeling that something was happening. Something good.

* * *

><p>The flakes that fell from the burdened night sky were thick and white. They glittered much like stars in the lightening, early morning sky. As the trio hurried along the most obscure and shaded corners of London, sometimes it was so heavy one couldn't see. No one had spoken since they had fled the Ministry; the only focus was getting away from London as quickly as possible and never, ever turning around to see if they were being pursued.<p>

Draco had taken up the lead moving through the tight spaces and littered, wet ground as quickly as he could by the weak light of his wand. Hermione had followed closely her pale, dirty face a mask of determination. And Pansy had flanked the rear her wand at the ready. They all wore the look of being pulled too far, pushed too hard and desperate to escape whatever personal hells that they were facing. None of them had to speak; they all knew the dire situation they were in.

Once near the river, Draco stopped partly because he didn't know where to go next and partly because he felt like his lungs would not take another aching breath of icy air. As he stopped the pain that he had ignored crashed against him full force and a moan escaped his lips as he bent over helplessly.

"Draco, we can't stop now," hissed Pansy, her voice ragged and breathless.

Beyond the alley they stood in, the river flowed swiftly between two gray banks covered with dirt and ice. No one was about this early hour and she was glad for it. The only response either woman got was the choked sound of Draco's breathing.

Hermione's heart raced as if she were running for her life even minutes after they had stopped moving. No matter how she tried to calm herself, her heart refused to stop pounding. As the world lightened around them, Hermione glanced at Pansy who stood rigidly to her left. Her dark hair was a stark contrast to the drawn, clay covered face that it framed and Pansy's dark blue eyes seemed almost black in the dim light.

_This is the woman, the situation I betrayed those who care about me for?_

The guilt sought to terrify and destroy her.

Hermione shuddered recalling once more the helplessness and fear she had felt the hot summer day so long ago. She felt the heat and heard the cruel beauty of Pansy's laughter. She remembered the pain. She could even see the white scars in her mind's eye, the memory of that day forever painted into her flesh.

_But she saved you!_

Did that negate all the horrid things she had done? Did this one moment, this act of saving grace absolve her of her sins? Was that why she had done it?

Hermione watched as if riveted while Pansy knelt in the fresh snowfall, reaching towards Draco and muttering something under her breath. It was some sort of charm for it helped him breathe easier and once more Hermione was floored by the sense of selflessness in a woman who had never shown anyone her heart. She was cruel and hateful but underneath it all was a heart capable of fierce loyalty and a love beyond that which Hermione had known before.

_She couldn't kill me. She saved my life. All because she loves Draco as I do. She would give up her hopes to keep him alive. Send him away to make sure that he was safe. Could I do such a thing? Could anyone? Has she paid for her sins? Has Draco? Have I? Have any of us?_

Hot tears burned behind her closed eyelids as Hermione took in a shaky breath and when she opened her eyes, Pansy was helping Draco to his unsteady feet. Wordlessly, Hermione stepped forward, reaching to hold his icy, wet hand.

"She's right," she emphasized, gazing at his ashen face. Draco only nodded, teeth chattering violently as he tried to speak.

The wind rattled through the alleyway as Pansy stepped forward.

"It's the holidays," she said without emotion. "The Market will be full and busy. Everyone tends to do their shopping last minute."

She turned to her companions her face white with determination.

"You can blend in," she finished knowingly. "Find someone leaving the city and get a ride. Don't apparate or use the Floo. Who knows where the Ministry has their hands and ears."

* * *

><p>Luna knew that everyone loved Neville; there was little to dislike. Patients at the Memorial Medical Clinic came in frightened and alone and there was something about the short, a bit too heavy and yet somehow endearingly charming Healer that won everyone's heart. He had a gentle way of speaking that calmed his patients. He had a sunny disposition which helped the sick find a silver lining amidst their pain and suffering. Indeed, he taught by example for he never once complained about the obvious scarring that marred his skin or allowed himself misery over the limp that encumbered his measured gait. He was a man with a laugh like honey, the smile of an angel but the fierce determination of someone who had seen it all – both joy and devastation.<p>

Luna knew without a doubt that Neville would have taken Harry Potter's place, would have also fulfilled the prophecy had he needed to. There was no doubt in her mind to the courage that Neville possessed though it was hidden behind a warm yet meek smile and covered by boundless humility. He downplayed his importance in many small ways; he never admitted to doing anything but what was necessary although he had gone over and above the call of duty more than once.

Luna knew that some of her happiest memories since the Ministry had fallen to the Dark Lord had been spent in the company of dear Neville. The man who had always loved her in spite of her decision to be with another.

Rolf had been the most brilliant, kindest man she had ever known and her decision to marry him had been one of the most certain ones she had ever made in spite of her confusion about Neville. In the end Luna knew she had made the right choice and each night she said a prayer for her deceased husband in hopes that he was somewhere safe and happy.

And that's what she was suddenly thinking about the following morning as she watched Neville lean over one of his patients, talking to the older gentleman softly as he worked to clean a rather gaping wound along his right thigh which was spewing a foul, green substance. She thought perhaps it had been some sort of cutting curse. That was another thing about Neville; when he was short staffed never was there a day that he wouldn't push up his sleeves and work just as hard as those who worked for him.

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away feeling slightly embarrassed. What would she say if he caught her acting like a silly little girl? Instead of wanting to face that, Luna quickly began to gather up the soiled bandages and put them in a plastic tub to be washed later. Neville turned from his patient and gave her a smile.

"Ready? I've got loads to show you," he said with eagerness to his voice.

Luna smiled, nodded and they made their way across the large sick room to the double wooden doors that led to the corridor. Here they were alone and she watched Neville as he strode slowly and carefully to their next destination. The hospital was clean and bright, with high, vaulted ceilings and large windows in every corridor. Neville had designed it right down to the tiny details. He knew his mother had liked large, brightly lit rooms and his father had favored the orderly. He had encompassed both of his late parents' tastes and had built the building with such things in mind. Luna thought it was brilliant; she had loved spending time there, outside of England and London, away from the Alliance and the death and violence. Sometimes she felt guilty for many a moment she had hoped to sneak away to Wales forever, taking Lorcan and Lysander with her no matter how she was needed elsewhere. Because she had been unable to understand her weaknesses she had assumed it was the wrackspurts trying to attack her brain. It happened all the time, after all.

"You've got something on your mind."

Again, the conversation from the night before.

Neville's voice echoed along the marbled corridor as they moved slowly towards the stairs. Beyond large wooden doors sounds could be heard – the shuffling of shoes and the muted music of voices. Sometimes coughing and crying and other times moans. The sounds melted into a cacophonic chorus. Luna started at the sound of his voice.

"Not quite," she replied with a half smile, tolerating the questioning.

Turning, she saw Neville wince as he resumed his steady, slow gait. Some mornings Luna recalled his walk almost normal, but others, like that morning, it was evident that his leg was giving him a load of trouble.

"You really want to know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking you ought to see a really brilliant Healer about that leg."

Her voice was a tone away from chastisement but it only made Neville smile.

"You forget that I AM the most brilliant Healer in Wales," came his joking response. "And I say I'm just peachy."

Luna rolled her gray eyes and glared at him with gentle reproach even as Neville waved away her constant concern.

"Luna, it was a curse gone badly. It could have been worse; I could be dead and I'm not. I refuse to dwell on what happened. Besides, my strawberry plants just came in and I have this brilliant idea on using them in a potion I read about last month."

But even though he kept up a constant flow of light conversation as he led Luna up to the next floor where he kept his ingredients and spent much of his time in research, Neville could not help thinking that she had touched on a raw nerve. Life was truly unfair. There he was willing to help the Alliance and relegated to playing the Healer. After all, who wanted a man with a gimp leg?

* * *

><p>The elderly gentleman stepped down from the cab of a massive truck that was delivering supplies at the Market. All around them there were people milling about. Some were making last minute holiday purchases and others moving at a more leisurely, aimless pace. But Pansy had been right; there were too many people here and it was a perfect place for someone to blend it and be unnoticed.<p>

Nevertheless, they had managed to wrap Hermione in a long black cloak and Pansy had cast a bedazzlement charm in case someone from the Ministry had chosen to come shopping. Given the dire situation, there was only a slim chance of such a thing happening but Draco refused to take a chance.

"We need a ride out of the city if you could," Draco began, hoping he didn't sound desperate. The Muggle driver scratched his head.

"Well, I reckon that's fine," he said. "I'm going a ways out north. I'll take you as far as I'm going."

Hermione's heart soared; the man's words sounded like salvation. She was leaving London! She was going to be free! Was it possible? Her heart leapt and began to race within her as she watched a smile light up Draco's face. It was the first time she had seen him smile in what seemed like forever although it hadn't been nearly that long.

"Thank you!"

The older Muggle nodded and offered his own smile in return.

"I'll be leaving soon but my truck will be parked just there," he offered, pointing towards the river behind the Market where other trucks could be seen.

"Right then," agreed Draco and Hermione noted that his wan face had flushed with brilliant color. He turned to the two women standing behind him.

"Come on," he urged, reaching to link his slightly trembling fingers with Hermione's. Pansy took in the simple action marveling at how natural it seemed; Draco holding the Mudblood's hand. It broke her heart but she consoled herself with the fact that this was it. She had done what she knew was right but the road ended for her here.

"Go," she struggled to say. Draco's excitement phased into a mild confusion.

He offered his hand to Pansy with tentativeness. She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. Draco noted her vehemence and the earlier rush of exuberance was gone now.

"You're coming with us, yeah?"

His words were uncertain.

"You know I can't go."

"What? Are you mental? You can't stay here!"

"London is my home."

"No, London is Hell!"

Draco took a cautious step towards Pansy because she looked like a wild animal about ready to bolt. She had always hated to be cornered. Not that he could blame her.

"Look," he said intently. "What you and I…everything that's happened before and after the Ministry…you and I…"

She stopped him with a brusque movement of her hand.

"I won't change my mind, Draco. London is home. The Ministry is-"

She hesitated and found herself loathing Draco for the way he was searching her face. There was nothing to do but be honest.

"I saved your life. I can't live in a world where you don't exist. But that never had anything to do with how I feel about the Ministry. I belong here."

"They'll destroy you!" he exclaimed. Draco's voice tinged on desperation and never in the whole wide world had he believed he'd care so much about what Pansy would do and where she would go.

"There's not much of me left," came her reply and it was strange and lacking denial.

Draco stared at the woman with whom he had sometimes been friends with, other times had loathed, one he had admired and yet one whom he had found impossibly irritating. He realized that this would be the last time he would see her. He refused to lie to himself; his decision to leave London and everything he knew and understood behind was a final one. Once he turned around he would never turn back.

"You can't stay here," he said weakly, blinking against a torrent of emotion that begged to swallow him. At first she only stared but then the faint lines of a wry smile played upon her defeated face.

"And I can't go with you."

She reached up, cupping her roughened hands around his face.

"You go. Do what you have to do; it's all any of us can do. I did what I could but now it's up to you to get out of here."

There was no fear in her face, no emotion that he could read clearly. Behind him the rest of the world began to return in small, short bursts of sound. Yells. Laughter. Beeping of horns. The sound of shoppers.

"Once they figure out what's going on they're going to come after you."

"No, they won't. They want _you. _They're after _you."_

She offered another sad smile.

"You and that silly heart of yours," she finished with a sigh of longing. It was futile to keep hoping for the hopeless and for a life that could have been so different! Each moment spent with him like that hurt more and more, knowing they would all too soon have no more time. She took a breath searching his face. It was one of surprise and disbelief. For the first time Pansy felt like he was looking _at_ her and not just through her. She wasn't just an annoyance to be dealt with but someone who mattered and perhaps even…

No. Hope was futile.

"I love you," she whispered, her hands dropping back down to her sides. "Take care. And get out of here," she urged just as a gust of wind swept along the street they stood on making people around them grumble and shout out in surprise or annoyance. "They'll never stop coming after you but at least this way you have a head start."

The driver returned gave them a tip of his hat to let them know it was time, and Draco realized now was goodbye. Her words rang in his mind.

"I know."

His words were uttered with utmost sincerity.

"And if you only knew how much this meant to me, Pansy, you'd come with us."

She stepped away, tears filling her eyes.

"Take care, Draco."

She spared a glance for the brunette standing at his side; there was the woman he loved.

"Be happy."

The words were choked and tearful and she clenched her fists around the cloak she wore to ward off not just the cold but the pain that came with saying goodbye. He offered a halting, faint smile and it was this which Pansy memorized before turning and fleeing along the wet, snow-covered cobbled pathway. She forced herself to stop thinking over what she had just lost and focus on getting back to the Ministry before Bellatrix awoke.

Pansy was swallowed up by the crowd almost immediately.

Draco stood watching her disappear feeling something inside of him drain and go empty. He wasn't sure what it was; he wasn't even sure he understood what she had just done for him and what she had given up. He was statue still while life went on around him without pause. Suddenly he felt Hermione's hand slip into his.

"We have to go, Draco," she was whispering and he woodenly nodded, turning to face her. She led the way for somehow Draco's body refused to do what he wanted it to and with her help he made his way along the edge of the Market towards the shipping dock.

* * *

><p>Bellatrix Lestrange rolled over on the wet, dirty ground and fumbled for her wand. She missed the first two times but then her fingers clamped around its small, cool length.<p>

"Lumos," she croaked out and the shadowy space was filled with light. Her head was pounding and she was having trouble recalling where she had been and what she had been doing that morning. Only that it had to do with…

"Malfoy!" she screeched, stumbling ungracefully to her feet. That was when she noticed the fallen woman to her side. It was Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy stirred as if just awakened by the shrill screech of her monstrous boss. She opened an eye and let out a convincing groan, rolling over on the wet ground. She closed her eyes again willing herself not to panic and to remain calm. As if bent on rebellion, her heart started up a furious rhythm within her.

"Get up! Get up, you silly, worthless wench! Reducto!"

Pansy rolled out of the way of the blast with unpracticed and natural grace and managed to get to her feet to face her half-mad boss. Bellatrix's eyes seemed to glow even in such low lighting.

"What happened? What did we miss? WHERE IS MALFOY?"

Pansy glanced up wordlessly, her eyes wide as she watched the other witch. She was now pacing the dungeon corridor. her black hair a mess of abandon around a white face colored with hatred.

"FENRIR!"

Pansy stopped herself from pointing out the fact that Fenrir lay in the same corridor just near the cell where they had been keeping Granger. He had been dealt the same fate as his boss. As Bellatrix brushed past Pansy rounding the corner with another cry of rage at the discovery of the wolf-man's body she looked towards the cell windows in the distance hoping that this would buy Draco the time he needed to get away from London for good.

Within minutes of awakening in the Ministry dungeons, Bellatrix Lestrange ordered the Floo Network shut down. Within hours, she had managed to put a trace on all those using unregistered broomsticks and Apparition without direct permission from the Ministry's Department of Transportation. And before the end of the day, all unregistered or suspected Portkeys being used within the city of London were confiscated. Bellatrix used all the manpower she had at her disposal and worked those in her employ for hours without rest to ensure that no wizard or witch left the city without her knowledge. She was deathly determined to find Draco and put an end to all his nonsense.

Sadly, or perhaps not so sadly, the one she searched for sat in the back of a Muggle delivery truck holding hands with the woman he loved and escaping without using any magic at all. The Ministry, believing that no pureblood witch or wizard would lower themselves to the level of a Muggle, never saw it coming. And so the two escaped London in silence, in the darkness and in fear of what lay before them.

* * *

><p>Even in the midst of winter Neville had a special touch; the strawberry plants that grew in his makeshift greenhouse were as beautiful as the fruits of June. They were large and red with beautiful green stems.<p>

Luna marveled at their beauty as her fingers ran over the leaves with a gentle touch.

"They're beautiful enough to eat," she told him with a smile.

"You eat one and I'll curse you. Jelly-legs for three days," he warned though his eyes sparkled with mirth. "Just wait until you read the article that I found in the Medical Journal-"

Neville stopped only because he saw the look of reprimand on Luna's face; she was gazing on him the way she used to when her boys had been younger and gotten into trouble. Though he knew that she was only trying to be a good friend somehow her meddling irritated Neville that morning. Usually he dealt with matters better but on that morning his patience was thin.

He spoke in a voice that was unusually tense.

"Look. I'm not going to talk about what's bothering me, all right?"

He couldn't, he realized. Moving towards the window, Neville peered out onto the well-kept, winding drive that led up to his hospital and sighed. Even though he knew he was helping in some way it wasn't what he had hoped for. He had hoped that he'd have been on the front lines just like he had been at Hogwarts, with Harry, Ron and Hermione. He had felt like someone then, he had felt useful and…

_Now I'm bloody handicapped and can barely stand up to a pixie let alone the Ministry!_

Frowning, Neville refused to move because he knew if he turned there would be Luna, hoping to offer her support and kind words…which he didn't want. She wasn't the one who had to stop fighting. She wasn't the one who had trouble walking. She wasn't the one who-

Neville wanted time to stop. He wanted to rewind it to before the first battle after Hogwarts had fallen so that he had never gotten hit with the curse that had maimed him for life. The blasted curse that had left him unable to continue life the way he would have wanted.

Maybe he was good at Herbology and that Healing is what he had been called to do but not yet, not until everything had been settled! The hospital, his work, and the love he had for what he did…sometimes it felt like a prison he would never break free of. He felt trapped between the four walls he had built in memory of his parents.

_And I'm nothing like them. I'm a coward and it isn't my choice!_

Behind him, he heard Luna's quiet footsteps.

"I had a vision last night," she said. "Like Professor Trelawney used to have?"

Neville offered a tolerant sigh. Hearing Luna's half-brained predictions was better than feeling her sympathy.

"Did you?" he asked thinly.

"Things are going to change," she said with a quiet confidence in her own words. Neville turned to gaze on Luna and she wore the familiar, faraway smile that he had learned to love.

"For better or worse? I hate to ask," he muttered in reply. Luna's gray eyes swiveled in his direction.

"I think with all changes there's good and bad."

He thought about this and ended up agreeing with her. Then, Luna put her hand on his for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry you're hurting."

"I'm not," he chose to reply quickly. "I'm just frustrated and I feel so…_stuck._ It's like this is all there ever will be. This hospital and my choice and the accident…"

And maybe Luna ended up being right about the hurting part too. Because he did hurt. It wasn't the same kind of hurt that persecution and evil had created in the new world. But it was still hurt.

Neville took a breath and then his stiff body relaxed against the large window. His face was sad.

"So what do we do now?"

Luna gave him a small, knowing smile.

"We just wait."

And they did, as the hospital and life slipped by them quietly for awhile.


	48. Chapter 48

_A little tidbit – I started writing this story six months ago today. Crazy! You guys have been so awesome, sticking with me from the beginning and seeing this monster story through! I am always amazed that still new readers are joining. In this segment, Dramione find hope in a stranger. Oh, and in case any readers were wondering what is happening to some of the Weasleys that are still alive, this chapter introduces a few new characters. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT<p>

* * *

><p>The darkness of the delivery truck and the steady sound of the wheels had lulled Draco and Hermione into a strange, dreamless sleep. For Draco it was quite fitful and he would jump awake every so often believing that the Ministry, Bellatrix or Fenrir had found them in spite of their sacrifices and efforts and that this time…this time it was the end.<p>

But each time he opened his eyes, startled, all he would see was Hermione next to him and the rumbling sound of the truck as it took them away from the city and towards the border of England. Try as he might he wasn't able to convince himself that they were safe. Nor could he get Pansy's words out of his mind.

_They'll never stop coming after you but at least this way you have a head start…_

A sinking feeling assaulted him for Draco knew that it was the truth; the Ministry would always be after him. In some way, somehow.

_Hermione will never be safe. Not so long as she's with me, and I can't have her live life this way!_

As if she was awakened by his tumultuous thoughts, Hermione groaned. The truck slowed and then came to a stop. The wiry-haired Muggle driver came around the back and opened the door letting in a faint sliver of white, winter light.

"This is the end of the road," he announced. Draco winced at the invasion of light just as the man pointed towards what looked like a small village.

"It's rather a small town and mostly merchants, you know. Won't be much going on with Christmas just over but I'm sure there's someone who'll take you in," he offered with a faint smile. Taking Hermione's hand he nodded wordlessly in agreement. Then he motioned to Hermione.

"I gave you the money, didn't I?" he whispered feeling uncomfortable at knowing nothing about Muggle currency. She nodded, handing the driver a few folded bills of money. The man took it with another smile and then bid them farewell before driving up the small road and then turning into a side alley.

The snow fell thinly around them and for a moment there was only silence.

"Look," she said then, pointing towards the center of the tiny town. She sounded almost bewitched. "I haven't seen one of those in ages."

Draco turned towards where she pointed and in the center of the village stood a tall, simply dressed Christmas tree. The pine had been bedecked with colored lights and large, ornate looking glass ornaments. He watched her face for he was standing so close he could see the lights reflected in her eyes. He had taken his tree back in Kensington for granted all those years, he realized. It was just something else that was the norm; it would be up right before Christmas and down right after the New Year. He had ignored it most years except for the year that Scorpius had turned two. That's what Hermione reminded him of, Draco realized. She had the same child-like amazement that he had seen in Scorpius that long-ago Christmas. He watched the tree shiver in the night breeze allowing the marvelous sight to distract him from the fears that were fast catching up to him.

"Come on then," he said thinly, pulling her by the hand as they neared the tree, their footsteps crunching in the icy snow.

Up close it was ever more magnificent.

"I'm ashamed," he admitted then. Hermione's eyes turned to his face quizzically.

"About?"

"Taking something like this for granted."

She nodded wordlessly but he didn't feel like she was judgmental or resentful.

"I guess this won't come as a surprise but Ron and I never had a tree. We never had a home so I guess…that's to be expected."

Her words were small and muffled against the thickness of is cloak. Draco shifted so she could tuck in against him and then tightened the heavy wool against her to shield her from the cold.

"We'll have one," he decided without hesitation. "A glorious one, with red, gold and silver all over it."

When he gazed down at her, Hermione was looking up at him, her eyes glimmering and her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked breathtaking.

"White lights," she said softly.

"And every ornament imaginable," he promised. "And loads of boxes underneath just like on those greeting cards."

Hermione's smile was one of peace. It shattered his sense of fear if only for a brief moment and his hold on her tightened albeit imperceptibly. He never wanted to let her go; he feared he would have to, but he'd hold on as long as he possibly could.

"Presents don't matter so much," she told him knowingly.

"It's good you think so. Christmas has come and gone and I've certainly gotten you nothing."

Hermione thought she saw a hint of his smirk and realized how much she had missed it. With a half smile she reached up stroke his face.

"I think I can forgive you this one time," she replied. "And I'll have you make it up."

Draco sighed.

"For the rest of my life, I promise."

"Well, start now," She whispered leaning up so that he could see himself reflected in the endless depths of her eyes. "Kiss me."

He complied, closing the small distance between them and losing himself for a few moments in the woman he loved. The kiss, however sweet, ended abruptly when Draco jumped, feeling a shiver run down his back.

"Draco what-"

He hushed her, turning around and saw one of the shadows along the edge of the town square move.

"Who's there?"

In the silence he could feel his heart trembling. They were caught. It was over.

_They'll never stop coming for you but at least you-_

"Who are you?"

The voice wasn't what Draco had expected; it wasn't the throaty one of his aunt or the rattling, gruff one of Fenrir. Instead, the voice sounded like one that belonged to a-

"Come now, speak!"

She emerged from the shadows, a small woman wrapped in a thick coat and a shawl wrapped tightly around her roundish face. She stood shorter than Hermione and walked with a slow, measured gait.

She was older, he realized, and with that Draco found the courage to speak.

"We're…only passing through."

His tone was wary; he had lost whatever Malfoy pride that had once existed. After all, in this world your name no longer mattered if you didn't align yourself with the Ministry. The only name that mattered was the one the Dark Lord chose to call himself.

The unnamed woman stopped and peered up into Draco's face. She looked kind and as if to spite her odd walk, her face was surprisingly unlined and youthful looking.

"Are you now?"

Draco could not find the words the reply; he was terrified of anyone whom he didn't know. She motioned towards the alley from which she had come.

"Come on, then. I've got a place for you two."

"We-"

"You'd rather get caught out here?"

"Caught?"

"Son, I've been around a time or two. You look as scared as a church mouse. Besides, you came in with Tobias' latest delivery and he comes from London. Brings all sort of folk through this town. We're used to visitors."

Draco, still feeling uncomfortable, pulled Hermione closer and cleared his throat, avoiding the woman's knowing look. Something about her was unnerving and he felt himself growing tenser. Hermione's body against his was also poised to make a run for it if necessary.

"I told you we're only passing through," he repeated in a voice barely audible.

"Even folks passing through have need of rest and a warm bowl of soup," she offered. Then she gave him a furtive wink. "Unless…you're running from someone?"

Draco and Hermione remained silent, not daring to say a word. After all, evil had an uncanny way of often wearing a cloak of kindness.

"The Ministry, perhaps?"

A sound escaped Draco; it sounded like a wheeze and he thought he might choke on his own breath. His heart began galloping.

"You know about the Ministry?" he hissed feeling Hermione jump against him. "Then you're…"

She smiled.

"A witch?" she provided with another, knowing smile. "Is that such a surprise then? Especially since you're one of us, too."

Draco's eyes were wide.

"I just never thought…"

"A wizarding family in a Muggle village you mean? Why, my boy, haven't you ever heard of Godric's Hollow?"

Draco winced as he suddenly thought about Potter. And next to him, Hermione's body trembled violently but she never said a word. If the witch noticed she did not mention it.

"In this day and age you live where you can," she said quickly. "Muggles are quiet. I found peace here. My husband found work. We settled here just after the Ministry fell in England, you know. Thought it was best to get out of dodge before all hell broke loose. Before that I had to face the Ministry's Muggle-born Registration Commission six times! Blessed be but I had enough!"

Hermione and Draco still could find no strength to reply to her even though the woman had a kind voice and even kinder eyes.

"Come, you must be hungry and I've got just the thing, I wager."

Motioning once more towards the alleyway in the snowy distance, she began to walk and this time, Draco and Hermione followed her.

* * *

><p>It wasn't as much a house as it was a very plain hovel. The living quarters consisted of three rooms and a tiny loo towards the back. But everything was in its place and the rooms were filled with a warm, welcoming light. A delightful fragrance hit their noses as they entered through the wooden front door.<p>

The woman walked in ahead of them and began to pull off her scarf and long cloak.

"I've made pea soup and bread so it's not much but I'm sure it'll hit the spot."

She turned to them and offered another smile. For a moment when she had seen the woman walk towards them in the darkness outside, Hermione had flashed back to the night with Harry at Godric's Hollow and Bathilda Bagshot's reanimated corpse. The unnamed woman had seemed much, much older than she looked now. In the light she looked about her own parents' age and her wiry hair had only dustings of gray while her face although slightly withered was still touched with youth.

"Come, sit!" she urged. "I'll get you both something to eat."

Fear gripped both of them and stubbornly refused to relinquish hold of their hearts in spite of the warmth and delicious smell that surrounded them. The witch noticed this and stopped moving towards the kitchen, turning slowly.

"Where are my manners? Merlin's beard! I'm Victoria Fawcett. My husband is Bernie but he'll be coming home from work in the morning."

Hermione wanted to return the kindness that was being offered to her but she was too terrified that this would be another blow against her and she wasn't sure she could handle it. She was nearly crippled as it was. Instead she could only gaze on the woman hoping that she understood what fear was.

Draco was the first to speak.

"I'm…my family's Malfoy," he offered cautiously.

Victoria Fawcett remained silent for a moment, hovering between the doorway of the tiny living room and the kitchen beyond. Then she nodded with understanding.

"So you're Draco, Lucius' boy, are you?"

His eyes widened with shock.

"You know my…knew my father?" he whispered.

"Dear boy, I knew of your father. Didn't everyone? He was always involved with everything, we read about him in the Prophet all the time, we did. And my daughter spoke of you," she finished, her lips twitching just a bit. "She was a bit older than you, if I remember correctly and she was sorted into Ravenclaw House."

The smile appeared again making her look splendidly young.

"Your daughter went to Hogwarts?" Draco echoed stupidly.

Victoria nodded with patience.

"Susan Fawcett. Perhaps you knew-"

It was Hermione who interrupted, pushing the cloak she had been clutching around her face away with her excitement.

"She was a brilliant Quidditch player! I remember! Harry said she flew better than Ron but I didn't believe it-"

Victoria laughed.

"Aye, it is true," she said, her eyes twinkling only for a moment. "And what a small world it is, isn't it? Two former Hogwarts students! If only Susan were here."

She frowned just a bit but soon was smiling once more though this time it was evasive. Neither Hermione nor Draco asked any questions, however.

"Now come, you two must be famished!"

The two sat at the rickety table and Victoria bustled around them eagerly, serving up steaming bowls of soup with thick, warm slices of bread alongside.

"Go on then, tuck in."

They did and Hermione thought it was the best meal she had ever tasted. For a few moments there was nothing but the howling of the wind and the sound of spoon against bowl. When they were nearly finished Victoria stood up slowly.

"Why don't I go and get a space cleared out in the back of the house for you two to sleep, yes?"

Hermione glanced up at the older woman her eyes filling with tears. She fought against them but it was nearly impossible because she hadn't been shown such kindness in years and Victoria Fawcett was so much like Molly Weasley that it hurt.

"I-we…couldn't impose like this," she muttered. "You'll get in trouble. We should go!"

She jumped to her feet like a skittish rabbit.

"Nonsense! What trouble?"

"I'm Muggle-born, you see."

The words were broken and Hermione felt hot tears of shame rolling down her face. She hated herself for crying and even more so over something like her blood status!

"Child, don't cry! It's nothing to be ashamed of as far as I'm concerned," said Victoria though her face had grown shadowed and the warmth was gone now. "It doesn't matter, does it? We're all the same."

The tears did not stop and finally Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione afraid that she would push him away. She did not, instead clinging to him as she wept. Victoria stepped closer, patting Hermione's wild, chestnut-colored curls for a few moments.

"There, there, dear girl."

She motioned towards the living room.

"Help me get her in there and I can rustle up some calming draught. Bernie fancied himself a Healer back in the day," she chuckled. "I bet I've got something to calm her down in the cellar."

Victoria returned within moments clutching a small flask to her bosom.

"Here," she offered the potion as Hermione sat trembling on the couch. She took the light colored potion easily enough and within moments her trembling ceased.

Draco sat holding her hand for a few moments and she remained strangely cool in spite of the hot soup they had just eaten, but he felt a bit comforted by the fact that she had stopped crying.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, kissing her forehead. Hermione did not reply.

Victoria had left the room after giving Hermione the potion and Draco heard the shuffling of her footsteps as she returned to the living room. There was a silence and then her voice cut in.

"Come. There's not much you can do for her now."

Draco turned to see Victoria's face looking grim.

"But there is much we must talk about."

* * *

><p><em>Pembrokeshire County, Wales<em>

The front door of the cottage slammed shut behind Charlie Weasley and Angelina Johnson rushed to the window to watch him storm down the snowy lane and get swallowed up by the bare, sad looking trees.

She sighed and whispered up a prayer for his quick return but nothing answered her. Mindlessly her long fingers moved up to rest protectively over a growing belly and Angelina blinked back tears of fear and pain. The letter that Charlie had dropped on his way out of the cottage was clutched loosely in her other hand and she looked down at neat script now blurred from her tears.

She couldn't read it again but each time she tried to forget the horrid news that the missive had brought she could do nothing but cry. No wonder Charlie had stormed out of the cottage like it had been on fire! No wonder that she woke each morning feeling that the only thing growing faster than George's baby inside of her was the fear that she would lose it like she had lost everyone and everything else that had ever mattered in life. No wonder so many people had given up!

_What's there to live for?_

As silent tears slipped down her coffee-colored skin, Angelina dared to look down at the rumpled letter one last time before tossing it aside.

Arthur and Percy were dead. Though she hadn't seen either man in months, Angelina was shocked to know that she wouldn't ever see them again. Yes, it hurt. But it hurt more because of the pain that had been etched on Charlie's face. It hurt because the fire that had burned in his eyes died at the realization that his father and brother were dead. Just like Fred and Molly had died years before. And Bill. But the one that pained her most…

Her fingers tightened around her swollen belly. She choked back a sob.

_Oh, God. George. Oh, George! I miss you! Baby misses you too!_

Angelina stood, tired from her emotional cry and fearful because Charlie didn't venture too far from the cottage that stood only a few miles from the coast near St. George's Channel. He sometimes spent the days outside in spite of the cold, staring out at the wide, gray sea. Though he had been helping with foreign recruitment for the Alliance, Angelina had suspected a few months before that Charlie had silently given up the fight. George had told her so. But she herself had not…

_Until God took George from me. _

They sky was an odd shade of silvery white. She stared up at it for a few moments, hands pressed against the icy wood of the front door, ears perked for the tell-tale thump of Charlie's boots on the porch. But there was no sound and she wanted to cry. Slowly, Angelina slipped down to the floor curling up in a small ball and allowing herself to have yet another good cry. She could only cry like this alone; when Charlie was with her she fought to be brave because he had gone through more than she could ever imagine going through. He had lost more than she ever would.

But when she was alone, Angelina cried.

She cried because falling in love with George had been too easy. Hogwarts memories would forever be blessed and tainted with his memory, the way he had always made her laugh, the way he had loved Fred and the rest of his insanely huge family, and the way he had kissed her in the darkness long after they should have been asleep. Too many of her thoughts would always be laced with the memories of _her_ Weasley. She could still remember the fluttery feeling of her heart and how silly she had felt after realizing how much time she spent thinking about him when he wasn't around.

_So easy to love. I didn't even know._

It had been easy to admit to herself that George had been a godsend. There had never been a doubt in her heart that he was her soul mate. He had taught her how to love and how to be the woman she was now. Running off with him had been easy; loving him while the world crumbled around them even easier.

Losing him, however, was something Angelina had never prepared herself for. The feeling of free-fall while loving him, crying with him, living life and fighting for a good cause with him, caring for him while his heart broke as his family fell around him, all those things had been exhilarating for her, but the crash that had followed at _his_ death had hurt more than anything she had ever felt in her whole life.

It seemed impossible that even Death could snuff out George's vitality and joy. There had always been something about him that _shone_ even during the darkest times. His laughter had been like music and his smile the beacon of hope and direction in what had sometimes been a world she had gotten lost in. But Death had taken him and left her cold, heartbroken and alone. Sighing, Angelina couldn't help but think back again on everything that had led to that moment.

George had decided to leave the Alliance and seek help from Charlie who had been living in Romania. There had been no question for Angelina; she had simply followed George because she would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Neither had spoken to anyone – not Kingsley, Lee or any of them. They had simply left during the night. For weeks they had run. There had been close calls, skirmishes and then all out battles. She had fought a good fight; George had been splendid. Only-

One couldn't live forever. In all wars there were casualties. Alone and terrified, Angelina had refused to return to the Alliance and fled to Romania, intent on finishing what her George had begun. Charlie shocked and heartbroken over George's demise stayed true to his word and began to contact sources outside of Britain in hopes of strengthening a resistance movement. Romania became inconvenient for their purposes and together they had fled to the coast of Wales in a tiny town near the Channel. It was there that Angelina had found out she was pregnant. Not even Death had quelled the life that had been George Weasley.

Tears trickled down her face as she tried to stop crying and wiped her face with the backs of her trembling hands. Charlie would come back; he always did. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She couldn't.

Slowly, Angelina stood up her heart pining for the man she would never marry and the man who would never raise his baby. The sky was still the same white color but in the distance she saw Charlie approaching; his red hair was bright against the snow. She watched him almost curiously, her hands pressed against the window.

Wiping the last remnants of her tears away, Angelina moved to open the small wooden door.

"You'll freeze out there," she chastised softly.

Charlie stepped over the threshold, shaking rogue snowflakes from his flaming red waves. Though she tried to catch his eye, he refused to gaze on her and walked across their small living room leaving Angelina helpless to everything but shutting the door. The missive still lay crumbled in the corner by the window and she watched as Charlie picked it up and groaned as it disappeared in his tightening fist.

She took a step forward and then hesitated seeing the tensing of his body at the sound of her footsteps. She stopped and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie."

Perhaps it was her voice or perhaps the realization that there was nothing he could do, but at her words he turned and his face crumbled. Moving swiftly she caught him so that he would not have to weep alone.

* * *

><p>Draco joined Victoria at the kitchen table and the silence loomed between them. It was pregnant with anticipation and nothing - not even the warmth of the room and the brilliant glow of the fire on the hearth could dispel the sudden frisson of fear that ran down his spine. The older woman's expression although still kind, had taken on a facet of seriousness.<p>

"Sit," she offered quickly but Draco couldn't. She stood with a sigh and moved towards the doorway.

"I've got some Earl Grey. Would you like a cuppa?"

Wordlessly, Draco nodded.

In a world where pleasures were fleeting and comfort was none somehow tea sounded like a perfect indulgence. He listened while her footsteps echoed in the kitchen behind him and water ran into a kettle and was set on the stove to boil. She returned and sat back down at the old table watching him. This time she didn't offer him a seat but spoke in a low, grave tone.

"You're a wanted man."

Draco's mouth went horribly dry as he stared at Victoria. Instead of showing his growing fear he set his jaw and tried for contempt.

"Am I? And how would you know?"

If she was fazed by his false bravado it didn't show. There was only a small pause before she spoke.

"I knew your name the instant you spoke it though it wasn't just because my daughter knew you back when you were both students."

The light from the fire danced created shadows along the far wall that danced with wild abandon. Draco couldn't gaze at Victoria for he was afraid she would sense his fear. Instead he became mesmerized by the seemingly magical dance of the shadows of fire. The silence before she spoke again seemed like two lifetimes.

"I recognized your name because just this morning the Ministry was here looking for you."

Unable to look at the dancing shadows any longer, Draco turned to face Victoria.

"Who?"

"He called himself Greyback. But there were others with him."

A strange memory overcame Draco; he recalled the way he had felt as a little boy just before getting punished by his father. The fear was the same and the little boy still inside Draco wanted to sob and beg for mercy. Of course they would have had time to catch up with him; Draco had forgotten that they could Apparate. Whatever gap of time Pansy had bought him and Hermione it was fast closing in on them.

_They'll always come after you but at least this way you'll have a head start._

It had been a sodding worthless head start in the end.

"Who are you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'm no one and who are you to think that I'd trust you enough to tell you anything?"

Somber eyes met those of Draco's who was fast approaching tears of panic.

"And what reason have you given _me_ to trust _you?_"

Draco swallowed back a hateful retort.

_Breathe._

She was right.

_Just breathe._

The fire crackled and the water in the kitchen began to boil. Veronica disappeared for a few moments while Draco fought against waves of utter fear and rage. When she returned carrying two large mugs he took a breath.

"I turned on the Ministry," he said in a low, tense voice. It was nearly a whisper. "They suspect I did and they think that the woman with…that she's hiding something."

Veronica handed him a steaming mug without saying a word and they both looked towards the room where Hermione lay on the sofa.

"If they find her again they'll murder her. And I'll be sent to the Dementors for turning against them. We escaped London a few days ago and found our way here. I don't know what to do. I don't know who to turn to."

He looked up tearfully.

"I don't know how to protect _her._ As I said, I'm nobody. She's what matters to me. I need her to be safe. I don't care what happens to me."

Trembling, he took a sip of the hot brew, scalding his tongue, but the pain felt _good. _Veronica set aside her tea and took Draco's hand, squeezing his icy fingers in her soft, warm ones.

"And I told you I'd help you," she whispered. "I no longer believe in the Ministry and what they are trying to sell. I don't think I'm any better than anyone else just because of my blood status. Let me help you."

Draco hesitated even at that moment Victoria's offer was the only certainty.

"You might not agree with the Ministry but too many do. There's no room for disagreement, no room to be free to think as we want. There's not enough resistance and now I might never-"

He hesitated.

"_She_ might never know what it's like to live a normal, real life. She'll be running for the rest of the life and even if she stops running they'll oppress her, and ridicule her and mock her and she doesn't deserve it! I don't know or give a sodding fart about the rest of them but I love_ her _and I'm so terrified for her!"

Victoria sighed and then pulled Draco towards the table.

"Child, calm yourself," she ordered gently. "And stop being so hopeless! Don't you know it's that kind of attitude that gets us nowhere? Haven't you been paying attention? The resistance is rising up all through London and beyond too. There are groups forming in tiny villages all across England and even outside. Bernie is friends with a chap that lives in Wales and there are groups forming there. And then there's the WERA. Merlin's beard, everyone's heard of them! When Susan heard she left us to join the cause. I've never been more proud of her."

Draco who hated being called 'child' could only blink and wonder at the woman who sat down across from him now wearing a fond yet tearful smile. His heart twisted inside of him both with a strange sense of kinship and a sickening guilt. It was because of his own that this was happening. It was because of the Death Eaters, the Ministry and Voldemort and his twisted vision of the new world. Good people were suffering, real, flesh and blood people going hungry, being imprisoned and persecuted, dying and being murdered…

It wasn't fair.

His forearm hurt; it was a cruel reminder of exactly what side he had chosen. Maybe he had changed his mind, but _nothing_ changed the fact that at one time he had been the cause of much pain in others. Hadn't he been cruel? Hadn't his wand murdered innocents? Hadn't he shown his bigotry and mocked others who were helpless? Yes, all those things and more. He had hurt Hermione. She had lost their baby because of his mistakes. She had-

"Draco."

Veronica's gentle voice broke into the symphony of self-hatred that played in his mind. He blinked and she offered her hand once more, wrapping it around his for a brief moment.

"You'll be safe here for the night. This is not the first time Bernie and I have helped the cause in whatever way we can. Others have come this way and gone and I pray they are safe. I'll pray for you too. Sleep here tonight and in the morrow…"

He took in a shaking breath.

"Can you help me help her?"

She nodded.

"The Ministry has little power outside of England. There is too much resistance for them to gain much ground either way but for now, Wales is safe as is Ireland. Many Muggle-borns go there until they can find their way elsewhere. I know of a place."

Draco thought of Blaise for a moment, of the promises he had made and of Neville Longbottom. Clearing his throat, the frightened man spoke in a voice that was more sure now.

"We were trying to get to Wales. If you could…help her get there I would be forever indebted to you."

Veronica was thoughtful for a moment and then he watched her take a swallow of cooling tea. Then she put her cup aside.

"There…is a way to get here there. To help you both if you so want."

Draco stared silently but there was no admission of his own desire for help. Veronica continued in a low, urgent voice.

"Some of us have been helping. Sheltering Muggle-borns and sneaking them across to Wales and Ireland where the Ministry has less control. There are some in England but many if not most in Wales, near the coast."

He cleared his throat thinking of Blaise once more.

"There's a hospital…and a man named Neville."

Veronica's eyes widened.

"Yes," she whispered. "In Cardiff. But a bigger city might have more eyes watching. There's a tiny village near the Channel, Draco. St. David."

Draco's first thought was a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds and a massive expanse of beach in July. His father had been a rugby fan and he had spent several holidays in St. David at the beach or dutifully following his mother around to the art galleries while his father spent hours watching matches between teams Draco could not remember the names of.

"I've heard of it," he muttered under his breath. It was a lovely, idyllic city and seemingly forever away from the hell of what Hermione had gone through in London. Victoria broke into his reverie.

"I'm sure you know of the Weasleys. One of their sons has a cottage there, just on the coast near the beaches. It's winter now. Lord knows there's no one there now and it will be safe. I can help you get there."

Draco stared down at the table, taking in the faded, worn woodwork with tiny mars and scratches in it. Taking a deep breath he nodded. It had started with a Weasley after all. And it would end with one. She deserved safety and happiness. She wouldn't be able to find it unless she was free.

_Without me._

Pushing that horrid, impossible thought away, Draco looked up and swallowed hard.

"Yes," he said barely able to grind out the words. "Yes, it's perfect. A perfect, safe place."

His hands lay palm up on the table and Veronica reached down to push away his sleeve and reveal the glaring, horrid Mark that was burned into his pale flesh.

"You're a brave man, Draco Malfoy. Braver than you'll know."

He shook his head.

"You're wrong."

"No, I'm not. You're afraid, but one who is brave can admit their fear and face it. And you can't be brave if you've had only good things happen to you. You've been through hell and God knows what and here you are."

She tapped on his forearm gentle as a whispered breath.

"They are cowards. And you've faced them and succeeded in breaking away. Good things will happen for you. You'll see."

She stood and there was a silence as Draco blinked furiously to keep his tears at bay. He didn't want to cry; he didn't want to be the scared little boy that screamed to be freed from inside of him. It took a few moments but he managed to hold himself together and stood to join Veronica at the doorway to the living room.

Hermione lay in repose, her face turned away from them and glorious cinnamon and caramel curls spilling down the side of the small sofa.

"Come," whispered Veronica. "Let's get you two squared away for the night. Tomorrow comes quickly and you must make a quick getaway."

Without a word, Draco moved to help her.


	49. Chapter 49

_Thank you as always; I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to replying yet. But I will! Here's an extra long chapter – I'm sorry it's going to be something that many won't like. I do promise two things however. I **will** finish this story and Dramione **will** end up together! So stay tuned. Oh, and enjoy. There's some…sensual material in this chapter – just a head's up!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FORTY-NINE<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione stood framed by the lamplight that illuminated their beds for the night. The lamp Draco held in his hand caused glorious firelight to dance along the wooden walls of the stable interior. A few of the stalls had been emptied; they were clean of debris and feed. Fresh hay and two bedrolls lay tucked into the corner where the shadows were heaviest so that even if one happened to pass by the two escapees would never be seen.<p>

Stepping carefully, Draco walked towards the last stall and then helped Hermione make up a small but comfortable looking place to lie down. Beyond the sturdy wooden walls the wind wailed as if to remind them that cruel winter was dominating the cosmos. Yet inside the small barn there was light and a magical fire burned to keep them warm.

"Stay close to the fire," Draco said, his voice hoarse.

Neither had spoken since Victoria had left them alone for the night, promising to be back before daybreak with breakfast and a change of clothing before they were whisked away.

Correction, he realized. It would only be _she _that would be whisked away.

Draco gazed on Hermione who seemed mesmerized by their surroundings. She was beautiful in the light of the lantern, the scars that perpetually marred her face nearly invisible and her eyes glowing in the light. Each second that passed by was one less he would have with her. She didn't know it but Draco had already made up his mind; he would protect her if it meant giving her up.

_What I did to her before was wrong. I was selfish and I've caused her too much pain. Now, I am doing the right thing._

It got too difficult to gaze at her and so he moved quickly to the far stall, the one nearest to the door, where he would sleep. He had chosen not to take chances; even if they were safe he wanted to be the first to attack should anyone enter the stables from that side.

"Draco."

Her voice seemed to be muffled by the shadows and Draco ignored her, focusing on setting up his bedroll.

"Are you all right?"

He stiffened at the question wondering how he could even answer.

_No, she needn't know._

A moment later he turned to look at her fully willing to lie.

"Fine. What do you think?" he asked of his handiwork, changing the subject. "It doesn't look very comfortable, does it?"

Somehow sleeping in a mere barn, near where dirty animals often stayed seemed most unappealing even after everything Draco had been through.

Hermione stood next to him remaining silent for a few seconds.

"It's our new home."

He could hear the smile in her voice and he shook his head.

"I'd wager that Jesus, Mary and Joseph didn't have it good starting out, did they?"

Hermione heard the laughter in his reply and then she turned to gaze up at him taking in the smile that played on his lips. She lived for moments when things seemed normal and thought that had she the choice she'd memorize the way he looked right then.

After the chuckling died away they were silent once more.

"I suppose…we should call it a night, yeah?"

He moved to walk away as if the nearness of her was too much to bear. That was when Hermione reached to clasp her hand around his.

"Please tell me what's wrong."

The pleading note in her voice sang a song to Draco's heart but still he was unable to be honest, instead shaking his head.

"It's nothing. I'm tired and tomorrow's going to be just as harrowing as today. I just-"

"You just what?"

"Nothing," he said brushing things off once more after which there followed an awkward silence.

"Draco? What happens now?"

Hermione's whisper was uncertain and she reached for his hand once more just after he withdrew it. Frowning she tried again this time holding on more tightly.

Draco turned his face away from her.

"Now we sleep. Tomorrow we go to Wales."

The words were clipped and painfully vague.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Hermione, please, I'm tuckered. I can't do this right now."

With that he withdrew from her completely and walked towards the darkness of his stall leaving Hermione standing there. She didn't think much about it and moved to follow him.

"You might be tired, cranky and hiding something from me but no way in bloody _hell_ are you going to sleep while you're still angry with me!"

Her tone was demanding and her jaw was set in an adorably stubborn way, though the way her eyes flashed was anything _but_ adorable.

Draco sighed.

"Is that what you think, Hermione? You couldn't be further from the truth!"

She watched as he threw himself against a fresh bale of hay with obvious frustration but the shadows made it impossible to see what emotion raged in his eyes.

"Do you love me?"

The sullen question rang out in the dead air and she frowned.

"_That's_ what this is about? You doubt my love?"

He winced at the accusation and took a breath.

"Do you trust me?" he pushed forward without sparing her another glance because being aloof would make it hurt less.

She gasped.

"Why would I be here with you if I didn't? Would I have given up my friends and those I loved if I didn't love you? This is absurd, Draco!" she exclaimed a bit of panic creeping into her voice at the way he was speaking to her. "I demand you tell me what's going on!"

Draco nearly groaned. In the end he wouldn't be able to lie to her anyway, he knew.

"You haven't forgotten the reason why all this happened?"

"What?"

"I'm talking about me and you."

Gently he reached up to touch her fingers with his in a trembling caress.

"It was because of Lily; it was because you loved her so much you'd have died for her."

Hermione stared at him as he spoke.

"Wouldn't all of this be for naught if you never found safety? If you were on the run forever and never found a place to call home? Don't you want to see her again? Ginny, the boys, Lily…and everyone else you left to be with me?"

Hermione's breathing grew wheezy and though it pained him, Draco continued.

"Don't you want to be safe?"

She felt her face burning from anxiousness.

"Of course I do! Seeing Lily and the rest of my family would mean the world to me!"

Tears threatened and Draco stood to wrap his arms around her. Hermione leaned into him without hesitation willing him to take all the pain and confusion away with his gentle touch.

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. Tomorrow we go to Wales. To St Davids along the coast. Your family is there."

"What?" she asked in wonder pulling away to glance up at him.

The joy in her eyes would be well worth the pain he would go through later on. More than well worth it. He would make her face the memory he would take back to London with him.

"Charlie Weasley."

"Charlie? Charlie's…he's alive?"

Draco nodded as he pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment.

"Yes. Alive and well and you'll be safe there with him."

Hermione beamed up at him her eyes shining with tears of joy.

"_We'll _be safe, you mean."

Draco's earlier smile faded and Hermione snuggled in closer to him, burrowing against the warm planes of his body a smile flickering across her face.

"Draco, don't be silly, after everything you've done for me they'll never turn you away! We'll be there together. We'll make the family we talked about…we'll make those dreams real. Finally."

Her voice held a touch of whimsy. Somehow it was more painful this way, Draco realized. Gently he reached down to run his fingers through her long curls, pulling her closer as he did so. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, making Hermione sigh. His lips moved along her temple, down to her flushed cheek and skimmed her chin before he placed one last kiss against he ear.

"I can't go with you," he breathed against her flesh.

One second she had been trying to seek his lips with her own and then in the next Draco felt her tense and try to yank away. He held her fast.

"Please believe me when I tell you I'm not doing this to hurt you," he continued holding her firmly in place so that she was forced to listen. "They'll never stop coming after me unless I turn myself in and I can't do that with you at my side."

This time when she yanked hard, Draco le her go and Hermione stumbled backwards, her face contorted with disbelief and anger, and her eyes blazing with clear disgust.

"So what would you have me do?" she cried out. "Go to St Davids and live with Charlie like nothing is the matter? Like I never knew you?"

He winced at her harshness of he words.

"You'll be safe," he began to plead with her.

"And then what?"

"You'll be free! You'll be _free_," he breathed softly, searching her eyes and praying she understood.

Hermione felt herself shaking with pain, fear and anger.

"So just like that, after everything we've been through and everything you've told me I should be doing you're just going to give up?" she cried out angrily. "You're a fool, Draco Malfoy! A fool and a coward!"

Draco knew the words were spoken out of anger and fear but that didn't make them any less painful.

He tensed, his hand tightening into fists.

"I'm not giving up! I'm doing this for YOU! Don't you see? It's the best thing, the most important thing I can give you, Hermione! Your freedom and your life back! If that makes me a coward than so be it!"

Tears sprung up to her eyes, fast and hot.

"What's my freedom if you aren't by my side? What's my life without you, Draco?"

He stared at her, all responses fleeing his mind so that he was rendered speechless, but he knew now more than any other time, words were important. When he finally found the strength to speak his voice was weak and uncertain in the face of his desire for her.

"Listen to yourself. Have you heard anything I've said? Don't you remember the reason why we're here tonight? Don't you remember why it is we ever spoke? That this between us ever started?"

He paused and she saw flicker of painful longing flicker across his features briefly.

"You just finished telling me that seeing your family again would mean the world to you."

His whispered reminder shamed Hermione because for a split second, when faced with the reality that he would no longer be at her side, she had forgotten Ginny and the children….Lily, Albus and James. Draco was right; everything she had ever done had been for them…for those she called her family. She shook, staring at the ground and fighting a battle against pain and loss. She didn't want to cry in front of him; she wanted to be strong.

_Did I ever believe this could last? Whatever this was between Draco and me? For so long I believed I hated him! For so long I would have given anything for this moment to happen!_

His soft words broke into her thoughts cutting them savagely and bringing with them more aching.

"Once you're free you can focus on them. You can find your family…Lily especially. I know you love her. Focus on that, Hermione. Focus on your family. They always loved you."

Hermione's eyes flickered up towards Draco's face. She heard what he was saying just as clearly as she heard what he hadn't said.

_My family has always loved me; he hasn't. Not always. And maybe too late._

The tears burned at her eyes but still she kept them at bay, staring up at him with a stoic expression.

"Where will you go?"

There was no pain in that voice now, only resignation. Draco's fingers trembled.

"I'll go back to them…back to London. I'll tell them you're dead and I'll accept whatever punishment they see fit. It can't be any worse than what I've already been through."

The words held no emotion; Draco felt drained when he thought of the Ministry and of what they had subjected him to already. He knew there was nothing he wouldn't be able to face. At his words however, he saw Hermione's eyes widen.

"You can't," she choked out. "What if they…you can't go back there! What will you do? How can you keep them from believing what they want to believe? What if they punish you with death? How could I ever-"

He lifted his hand to silence her, shaking his head vehemently against the tide of questions and uncertainties that she was voicing.

"Hermione-"

"What if you do all this and still they find me? It would all be for nothing and I would have lost you anyway!"

"Stop this! Don't ask questions about things no one knows about!" he exclaimed forcefully. "I don't know any of the answers and I can't bloody think about those things now! You're important right now! I'll think on the rest later!"

Hermione's eyes widened at the vehemence in his tone and she wrapped her arms around her thin frame, looking away from him. Her eyes spilled over.

"How will I ever repay you for what you've done for me?"

Draco could tell she was fighting against breaking down and felt a rush of love for her so great it made his eyes water. He spoke his reply without hesitation.

"Be happy. That's all I want from you. I want to know that you've found your family and that you can be happy again. As long as I know you're trying to do that I can handle anything else that this fucked up world has in store for me."

Hermione reached up to place her palm against the coolness of his cheek.

"I want you to be happy too."

"I know."

Tears slipped down her face even though she gazed on him with a brave look. He sighed.

"Hermione, you and I…it wasn't ever supposed to happen. We both know that. Not in this world. No one would understand."

She nodded, sniffing back the losing battle with her sobs. He had always been a Death Eater and she a mere Mudblood. There was nothing to make sense of the love she felt for him. Nothing at all.

_He's right. He's so right._

Her broken heart beat weakly inside her chest causing her pain that felt nearly physical.

"I understand," she whispered painfully. "You're…we are from two different worlds."

Shame held unspoken strength in he words and Draco gripped her hands suddenly.

"It's not you, Hermione. It never was. You are the bravest, most selfless woman I know and no other could make me feel what you have. No other could love me the way you have. It's got nothing to do with you."

His hands came up to brush along her chin tenderly.

"They've mocked, derided and spit upon you like you're nothing. I've been there, I know how it is. You know how it is. But still you are twice the person they are, and four times the woman that I deserved. I will always remember how lucky I was."

Hermione was crying, having lost the battle against her sobs and he gathered her into his arms to hold her. It was the last small comfort he could offer. Hermione's mind raced as she rested in the circle of his arms; it was the only place she wanted to be in the whole world. And with each moment that passed they were nearing the end of their time together. Perhaps Draco was right; perhaps this was only temporary and their lives had crossed only for a purpose that had long been fulfilled. What Hermione didn't know was what she had ever given Draco. Everything he had done had been for her. He had saved her life; he would help her get her family back.

_And what have I done for him?_

She would never know. Bu she knew he would always be the only good thing to come out of the war. Her love for him the only hope in a darkened world. As the silence loomed between them Hermione fought to think of something to say, to prolong the conversation if only to keep him awake and holding her.

"Have you ever been to St Davids?"

"On holiday with my parents," he replied and she sensed a smile in his voice once more. "Lovely city. Small but beautiful. White beaches and great food. And they have a fantastic rugby team; my father often went there for just that."

Hermione found it strange to imagine Draco's parents (at least the ones she remembered) enjoying something as…normal…as rugby and the beach. She felt him stroke her hair.

"You'll love it, I promise."

After a moment of silence Hermione pulled away and felt Draco's lips as they kissed away the remnants of her cruel tears.

"I-I'll want to come back," she whispered raggedly searching his face in the shadows. Their eyes locked as she continued. "I can be happy but not without you. I'll want to come back."

"London will never be safe. Not so long as this…goes on."

His hold on her tightened for a moment.

"But once the Ministry falls…

There was hope in his voice as it faded into the darkness and she felt her heart weep once more. She wondered when the battle with the Ministry would end and if there would be a chance to find him in the wake. She wondered how long they would be apart and if ever she would see him again.

She nearly wailed out loud.

"Oh, Draco, I wish-"

Her words were broken and trembling.

"So do I," he replied quickly, almost gruffly. "So do I."

Once more there was silence and once again Hermione fought to think of how to continue the conversation because she didn't want the night to end. She thought of asking about Lucius and Narcissa. She even though about asking if he had ever taken Astoria on holiday or if Scorpius had enjoyed the beach. But no words came to her lips so she kissed him instead, pressing her lips against his mouth firmly at first and then with gentle insistence.

He groaned, the beast of desire awakening within him.

"Hermione, I don't think this is a good idea," he managed to say between her fevered kisses.

She would not be deterred, offering herself wantonly like she had many times before.

"What's it matter? One last time, one last night, Draco," she whispered.

Draco knew it was a bad thing, even though he wanted to just as she did. It would make it that much more difficult to leave her and that was the last thing he wanted. But it was the way that she gazed up at him with a mixture of longing and sadness, and the way her fingers lightly brushed against his arm, his elbow, his neck – that finally caused him to give in.

Their lips met in the darkness over and over again, and then he felt her sigh and press against him, begging him silently for more. His eyes fluttered closed and Draco allowed himself just this one last time. He could get lost in her and create those memories that would have to suffice in keeping him warm in the cold nights to follow.

They tumbled to the bedroll and the soft, fragrant hay forgetting everything but each other and their clothes came off one by one until there was nothing between them but warm, smooth flesh. She shivered with the need to be closer to him, still closer, so close that they were fused as one. Her body moved against his.

"Are you cold?" he whispered against her ear just as Hermione ran her hands up and down the smooth planes of his wide back feeling the heat of his flesh against her fingertips.

"No," she replied. "Please, Draco. Hurry. Now, I need you now."

The plaintive whisper drove and fueled the fire of his desire for her and he groaned in response. She was ready for him, the wet heat of her against his hand.

"Please, now," she begged again moving against him. "Do what you do to me Draco, and make the rest of the world go away."

He could not deny her such a request for her wanted it so badly he was trembling.

Draco pushed into her and was once more aware of how amazing she felt and how perfect it was between them, almost as if her body had been made for his. Like two puzzle pieces. As he moved against her, Draco was aware that Hermione had never closed her eyes and that she was gazing up at him, her eyes darkened and wild with desire. He stopped moving and she keened softly, wrapping her thighs more tightly against his hips, bringing him closer, urging him on. He didn't want to move; he wanted to make the moment of being completely joined with her this way to last forever. Tenderly he hushed her frustrated groans with his mouth, kissing her slowly, deeply, drawing out those few moments as long as he could. Never had he known a woman as splendid as Hermione and one nearly as responsive.

He smiled in the darkness, their foreheads pressed together, hearts racing against one another.

"I swear," he managed. "You are my life's greatest treasure."

Hermione's heart filled with joy and wept with regret all at the same time. Never had sweeter words been spoken and at the sound of his tender voice she pulled him even closer, running her fingers along his face, through his hair and anywhere else she could touch him, memorizing every feeling, every nook and all his secrets. She gazed deeply into his eyes wanting to remember them lest she never have another moment like this one. She was no longer upset with him; her heart was breaking too badly for that. Now she knew that she had to move on. She wouldn't be able to resent him simply because she had to go and he…

Her hips bucked towards him, willing Draco to move and he finally did, the sensation one of exquisite pleasure. Hermione was overwhelmed by him, feeling drunk with every movement, every touch, and every fevered whisper. As he neared his climax, she leaned up claiming his mouth with hers yet again.

"I love you."

She saw that his eyes filled with tears as she crashed over her edge, crying out his name as she did so. She wrapped her arms tightly around his flushed body and buried her face in his neck. He tensed and tightened within her and then, with a groan, went limp, pressing her body against the bedroll as she accepted his weight completely.

"Oh, Hermione," he moaned.

And she knew, she could tell from the tone of his voice. He was weeping.

* * *

><p>The following morning dawned and it had stopped snowing through the night. The sky was a pale blue and the sun was creeping up along the horizon promising a day of brilliance. All around them – the trees, the grass and even the tops of the cottages scattered about – frost lay in a thick, glittering layer. It was as if the world had donned a most splendid wedding gown. They stood waiting by Victoria's cottage unmoving, hands clasped tightly together. Neither spoke of the night previous nor of anything at all, simply waiting for what fate had in store. Presently a covered truck came rumbling from around the corner smoke pluming from a massive tailpipe in the back and a tall, thin man stepped out and offered them a smile.<p>

"Sure looks like a fine morning, yeah?"

They nodded wordlessly and Hermione offered a faltering smile.

"My wife tells me you'll be needing a way to St Davids?"

"If you would be so kind," replied Draco with a nod.

"We do this all the time." He smiled. "I wish you only the best after this. Come on then."

The truck was large and there were plenty of blankets and a hot breakfast waiting for them once they were settled. Though the biscuits looked fresh and the coffee smelled divine, Hermione found she was unable to eat. She offered her portion to Draco who declined. The breakfast sat untouched between them, the delicious aromas wafting into the freezing air and bringing about a sense of normalcy and comfort.

At least there was that, Hermione decided.

The road into Wales was a winding one and the hours slipped by. Hand in hand they traveled in that covered truck as the sun rose high and bright in a lovely winter sky. No one was about that day and the roads were mostly empty though the Sawyers had taken the precaution of bedazzlement charms on their vehicle. As the hours got on Hermione's stomach rumbled and she ate her cold breakfast for dinner. Draco did the same.

When the food was gone she finally broke their long, uncertain silence.

"I'm going to come back."

"Come again?"

"To London. I'm going to come back for you."

"No. You can't do that."

"You wanted me to be happy. Well, that'll make me happy. I want a life with you. I want a house and children and you can't just…"

She sighed and then peeked over the top of the truck bed. On either side there was only glittering, snow covered hills and valleys and bejeweled trees and bushes. She ducked down again, cheeks flushed from the bitter cold, and gave him a stern look.

"If I'm so free then I should be able to do whatever I want. And what I want is to be with you. Once the Ministry falls…"

They'd been saying it too often, Hermione knew. And she wondered if perhaps it was just a shallow hope. The war between the wizarding world and Voldemort's reign of terror had raged on for years and years. WERA was no closer to ending it than before and if there was much resistance it was not yet powerful enough to stop the massive power that Voldemort was still clinging to. Some people would never change their minds and prejudice would always exist. But maybe…

"If you come back you'll never be safe."

She swallowed and when she spoke her voice was firm.

"Here and now, make me a promise. Promise me that as soon as you can you'll run from them. Promise me."

Draco's face fell.

"Don't ask me to make a promise I can't be sure I can keep. If I run there's one less person to defy the Ministry."

Hermione took a deep breath, once more on the verge of tears she had hated to cry; she had shed too many tears already.

"When it's _over_," she emphasized. "Promise me you'll try."

"I promise I will try."

The truck rumbled on and the engine sputtered loudly making conversation impossible for a few seconds. Then he spoke.

"Once the weather breaks, you'll be going to Cardiff."

"Why there?"

"You have friends there," he replied his voice tinged with warmth. "There's a hospital there and you'll be able to find work. Hermione, you're brilliant. You could have been someone, if the world was different. But I'll make sure that you have a chance if I have to die trying."

Hermione marveled at him for a few moments, the way the shadows and light played in his white-blond hair, continuing to memorize him in these quiet, wordless moments. Then she took a breath.

"A hospital?"

"The Alice and Frank Memorial Magical Clinic."

Hermione's brow furrowed and Draco could nearly see her mind connecting the dots.

"Neville…?"

He nodded, reaching to touch her hand for a moment.

"Yes. He's quite popular in Cardiff. Some claim he's one of the city's best Healers and he founded the Clinic in memory of his parents."

Hermione sat back feeling floored for a few seconds and warmth flooded her body. Neville was alive! She had hoped and prayed he would be; she had prayed for so many of her friends and acquaintances and too many times her prayers had not been answered. She felt a thrill of joy run through her at Neville's success in a world where she had struggled for her life. If anyone was deserving, it was Neville.

Draco shared in her silent joy, not blind to the sudden flush of color that filled her face and the way her eyes lit up from the inside at the knowledge that a friend was doing well. Hermione had always cared more for others than for herself.

"He's going to get a great addition to his growing staff and doesn't even know it," Draco said with a half-smile. Unfortunately, what Neville was to unwittingly gain Draco knew he would have to give up.

Hermione swallowed, frozen for a few seconds by her raging emotions. Then, startled by the way her life seemed to be changing so quickly and drunk with the hope of being free, Hermione looked up at Draco.

"I only wish your life…I wish that you had something to look forward to," she whispered tearfully.

"I do," he replied with a quiet solemnity. "Your happiness."

Tears filled her eyes as she reached to clasp his hand more tightly.

"Please, come with me," she begged.

Draco felt himself swallow against a flood of his own tears.

"Don't ask me to do that, Hermione."

Nothing followed but the rumble of the truck against the pavement.

* * *

><p>Several hours later Hermione and Draco ate a simple lunch of dried fruit and sandwiches that Victoria had put aside for them and then he broke the silence that lingered between them for over an hour.<p>

She sensed his hesitation.

"Hermione, when we get to the train station that's as far as I go. Bernie will bring me back and then I'll be going back to London."

The sandwich had been especially delicious and the fruits both pleasantly sweet and tangy but his words made Hermione's mouth and stomach curdle.

"What about Charlie? You wouldn't want to talk to him? To see him?"

_You wouldn't give me just another few moments, several minutes or even an hour or two to accept that this is the end?_

She didn't speak for a few moments for she felt somehow betrayed.

"It wouldn't help you."

"Yes, it would."

"No. In the city no one will notice us. The train station is always busy. And you'll tell them Bernie brought you. Never mention me, Hermione. I don't want you tied to a Death Eater."

Her jaw was set with stubbornness.

"I happen to love a Death Eater!"

It was strange to hear such words, to even think them let alone know they were true. Blushing, she looked down at her hands.

"And I think he's the best thing that ever happened to me! The only good thing in this whole horrible war!"

His smile lingered but it was one of sadness, for Draco suddenly wished he had never been born.

"I understand why others bought into the Ministry's philosophy. It sounded good; we were all fooled. Some still are. There's no glory in these battles, only death and more destruction."

He reached to brush a rogue strand of chestnut hair from her shoulder. It saddened Draco that he would never see Hermione grow healthy and share in her joy. But he wished her as much happiness as the world could give anyone.

"This way you'll be free from all that. Free to start living a life you deserved nearly eight years ago. Free yourself from the taint of who I am and what we've done to you. Its better that way; you'll start anew. The less you say about me and what's happened between us the better off you'll be down the line."

Their fingers locked and Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"I'll never be able to forget you and be free of this, Draco."

He smiled.

"Bloody hell, I don't want you to forget me!" he said and for a moment he laughed. The sound was beautiful. "I want you to remember us."

"Every moment," she promised with a whisper. "I'll never forget it. And I'll hold onto those memories until you come back to me."

She gave him a pointed look.

"Because you will."

He said nothing.

* * *

><p>The train station was as busy as Draco had predicted it would be. Hermione followed him through the throngs of later afternoon travelers holding onto his hand tightly. The sea of faces confused her; it had been a long time since she had been out in the world. Soon that would change.<p>

_Soon I will be free._

Hermione forced herself to think of only that lest she focus on the fact that Draco was leaving her and she would be alone once more. But it was in return for her freedom…for the chance to see the children again. To see Ginny, wherever she was. She took comfort from such thoughts, knowing that finally, after all that time, they would come to fruition.

When they reached the outskirts of the throng, Draco turned and slipped off his cloak, wrapping it around her thin shoulders. She took in a breath of mint and cigarettes – a scent she had long ago begun to associate with him.

Bernie hurried to the ticket booth and left them alone for a few moments and Hermione felt suspended in time; there was nothing but Draco, the roaring of the people around them and the squawking of a man's voice through the loudspeakers though she wouldn't ever have been able to repeat what was being said. Her blood rushed through her ears making it impossible to hear.

Bernie returned much too soon, Hermione decided. That much less time with Draco.

"She's a'comin in ten minutes," he said handing Hermione a little white stub.

She took it and her face registered only bewilderment as if she had never seen a train ticket in her life. The older man patted her shoulder.

"Good luck, Hermione."

She looked up, mouth hanging open slightly. He had said something – wonderful, dear Bernie. She could only nod.

_Only ten minutes. I only have ten minutes left with Draco._

"Y-yes."

She wasn't sure even if the word had made sense but she had no others to offer. There was a hug and then Draco was saying something to the older man and once more she and Draco were alone. His eyes were solemn, almost blue against the backdrop of sun and clear skies. She stared up at him, losing herself for a few moments in the depth of his gaze.

"You're going to be just fine, I promise. You've always been resilient, Hermione. It's one of those things that people envied about you, amongst many others."

Hermione was silent, not feeling like she was resilient, brave or any of those virtuous things that Draco was saying. Swallowing, she managed a few croaked out words.

"I'm so terrified."

He gathered her gently into his arms, pressing her head so that she was resting just under his chin.

"And you've always been able to fight it," he whispered in reply. She could tell now that his voice was choked.

Hermione felt the gentle way his lips pressed against the top of her head and closed her eyes, holding him tight.

"I don't want to fight it without you."

Yes, she sounded like a frightened, lost little girl but it would not be helped.

"You keep fighting and one day you'll win. You'll overcome all your fears and you'll be able to prove to the world that it can't break you, Hermione. You're brave. Fear only exists until you become its master."

Hermione looked up at Draco still safe in the circle of his arms. Beyond them the sound of a nearing whistle pierced the cold winter air causing her heart to stop. When it started it beat at a gallop for now she knew the train was nearing and her time with him would soon be gone.

But she liked the idea that someday she wouldn't feel fear; she liked knowing that if she kept on fighting she had a chance because it had _never_ felt that way. Maybe now…now her life would be different. She gazed up at the man whom she loved as she had never loved another. So many words flooded her mind but there was none that could express her heart. How was it that she only had a few moments left within which she would have to tell him what she was thinking? How could she properly thank him for changing her life? He had loved her, cared for her and saved her…in more ways than one. He wore the Mark and yet never had there been a man with a purer heart and more integrity.

The train pulled into the station, the whistle making it impossible for any further conversation had there been any. Hermione's eyes filled with tears and amidst the crowd that snaked towards the doors as the cars slowed and then came to a stop with a proud whistle and hiss, she found she couldn't move.

Draco took her hand and she noticed his fingers were trembling.

"Remember what I told you," he said firmly. "You were with Bernie."

Her brown eyes widened with worry.

"What if they still f-find me?" she asked lamely hear heart pounding so hard there was a tell-tale quaver to her voice.

Her grip on his hand tightened. Around them other passengers began to board the train. Still, she could not move.

"They won't. You're going to be safe. No one knows where we are and once I return to London you'll be as good as free. They'll believe you're dead. And I already am, remember?"

He tenderly reached to stroke her face and she nodded mutely.

"It's time," he whispered and Hermione saw regret reflected in the stormy depths of his eyes and a deep, lingering sadness.

For a moment her body still refused to obey her and then in the next second she had flung her arms around him, her body shaking with emotion.

"I love you," she sobbed. "Thank you for everything. I swear once this is all over-"

The sobs made it impossible for her to continue and Draco leaned in to kiss her. It was a sweet, lingering kiss as if they had all the time in the world. She forced her eyes closed and held back her sobs so to make the caress last. She tasted the salty, bitter taste of her tears and moaned as his tongue gently caressed her lips and then begged entrance to her mouth which she offered willingly. They were lost to everything but each other.

The instant whistle broke them apart and Hermione finally found her words.

"I can't believe this is happening."

He swallowed and the taste and feel of her still dominated his senses.

"Take care of yourself."

"How can this be happening?"

She was breathless and her heart was breaking.

"I love you, Hermione."

"I'll never regret one moment of this horrible existence because of you."

"Don't forget what we talked about. Protect yourself."

There was a silence and finally he moved her from the platform onto the train. Hermione refused to let go of his hand as if holding him there would keep him at her side forever.

Finally, she had to and quickly she brought her hand to her mouth biting down on her knuckles to keep from falling apart. The sweet pain was a balm against the flood of ache that was yet to come. Tears rolled down her face silently and she watched as Draco leaned up to kiss her one last time.

The world stopped for a second and she only heard her own words.

"So…I'll be seeing you, then."

"Someday."

There were tears in his eyes.

She wept openly.

The train began moving and their hands broke apart though Hermione's remained in the same position, her fingers uncurling towards his still outstretched fingers. They gazed on one another as the train picked up momentum and the whistle blew.

She wouldn't hate him just because she had to go and he had to stay.

He was and would be the love of her life. Hermione remained in the same position her cheeks and face frozen with winter wind watching him until he became a dot on the platform and then the train turned a corner and he was gone.


	50. Chapter 50

_You are all the best readers ever – I appreciate every kind word. And so begins Hermione's new life! There's much in store and this chapter is sort of a bridge plus it fleshes out several characters that will become prominent in the near future. I'm at fifty chapters and nearly a thousand reviews; help me get there guys! I'd like a lovely even number so if you love this leave a message! :D And as always, enjoy!_

_LCailan_

CHAPTER FIFTY

Hermione was numb; there simply was no other word to describe the way she felt. The train zipped along its shiny track passing fields and valleys decorated with a layer of sparkling ice and skies as blue as those of deep summer. But she noticed none of those things even though she was staring out of her window, unmoving.

All she could think about was what she had left behind. Draco's eyes still burned into her memory, the sadness in them and the resignation that he was doing this for them…for _her._

_So that I can be safe and happy._

Happiness wasn't something Hermione could force right then; the thought of trying made her ill. For how could she be happy if she had left the most important part of her, the part dearest to her heart, behind?

Fear caused her to tremble for a few moments. Perhaps the thought of seeing Draco once more after the war had been a cold comfort but the more she thought about it the less of a balm it was. Was she truly supposed to believe that in a world as cruel as the one in which she lived that she would be blessed enough to see him survive that long? What if he died on the way back to London? What if the Ministry chose to send him to Azkaban, or worse?

_What if those few moments at the train station were our very last ones together?_

The tears, when they came, were burning and painful. Hermione blinked vehemently against them.

_I promised Draco. I promised him I'd be happy; it's what he wants more than anything in the world._

As if that thought awakened her, Hermione shifted in her seat and then finally was able to take in the glittering, snowy landscape that rushed by her as the train sped along the Welsh countryside.

_No more tears. Not right now; you've cried enough Hermione._

Her inner thoughts did little to help her achieve such a goal but she tried anyhow, focusing on the positives. She wasn't cold or hungry for Draco had given her food and a coat to wear. He had given her enough money for some new clothing and soon she would be amongst friends. Never in her wildest dreams had Hermione believed she would have ever been able to flee London, England.

A sigh escaped her.

No, things could have been much, much worse. In fact, they had been. She realized the last ten months had been the worst of her life.

_The worst time in my life and it figures that amidst all that horror I found love._

Hermione sat up straighter, clearing her throat and forcing a smile she didn't feel. She would have to survive, she knew. It was what Draco had wanted and everything he had done for her would be wasted if she didn't try to fight. Draco had given her the ultimate gift, a chance at freedom, and she wasn't going to allow herself to waste it!

In spite of the fledgling hope that took root in her heart, Hermione knew that fear would remain. The tiniest things made her jump – the sound of the food cart, a sneeze or a cough, the slamming of a compartment door – all those things caused her heart to race and sometimes her blood to freeze. She knew that the feeling would eventually pass as her time under the thumb of the Ministry became nothing more than a plethora of horrid memories and bad dreams. But until that time came, she closed her eyes and willed herself to push through it.

Wales was a whole new world! She would be able to flourish, find her friends and family, and perhaps hold down a job.

_I'll be a normal person! Not something to look down upon because of my blood status!_

Sighing, Hermione pressed her face against the cool window pane in her compartment and closed her eyes. She didn't know when she had dozed off but her dreams were disturbing images of Bellatrix, Marcus Flint and Fenrir tormenting Draco in the dark recesses of the Ministry while she stood to the side unable to help him as he screamed…

She was startled awake by the sound of a thump and for a few moments her heart began to race for sure she had been found! Surely it was Fenrir standing on the other side of her compartment looking in at her with those dark, insane eyes and a strange grimace on his face-

But no, it was just the supper cart coming through and Hermione's stomach curdled at the thought of food so instead of taking her supper she curled into herself once more and tried to sleep the rest of the trip. But sleep was an elusive thing that early evening and after awhile, Hermione gave up and spent the remainder of the ride listening to the sound of the click-clack and praying that she would get through what was coming.

But most importantly she prayed that she not cry.

The sun was setting brilliantly in the early evening as Hermione was ushered from the train onto the platform. Her feet moved her steadily in the right direction for the throng of people pushed her ahead gently. She was the only traveler with no luggage to speak of but in one deep pocket of her long coat she clutched her wand tightly against her for it provided a small measure of comfort. As if in a daze, Hermione moved her head back and forth looking through the nameless faces that milled about, some hugging, some laughing others talking and crying. Still others were traveling on business, men in black suits and long coats and women in sharp, pressed suits.

But nowhere did she see anyone she recognized and at that realization she felt a strange tug of fear on her heart. What if no one had come? What if she was all alone with no one to turn to? She couldn't find Draco again, and how would she reach Charlie? Could she contact Bernie-

"Hermione!"

The voice had come from somewhere behind her, a deep, musical bass. Hermione whirled around as she caught and held a breath of anticipation.

"Merlin on high, it _is_ you!"

Hermione looked through the faces and finally saw him. She didn't even realize when she had started breathing again or when she had begun to smile so hard her face hurt. For those first few moments it was almost possible to forget the poignant pain of her previous loss.

"Charlie!"

Pushing through the crowd was a nearly impossible feat but finally she reached him and threw herself into his arms without thought of the fact that she hardly knew him. In fact, she had only met him once, at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and that seemed ages ago. If he had felt strangely, Charlie didn't show it, instead wrapping Hermione up in a huge hug and holding her fast for a few moments.

Breathlessly, she pulled away and looked up at his face. His resemblance to the twins was uncanny, but all the same, Hermione saw hints of her late husband in the way Charlie's amber-brown eyes shone and his nose crinkled when he smiled. Though time had aged him a bit, it had not dimmed the color of his hair which looked afire in the setting rays of the sun. He wasn't as lanky as the twins and hadn't been as tall as Ron, but build as sturdily as a house with freckles that were liberally sprinkled across a face lined by time and worldly worries. She could see a profound sadness as she took a closer look at him.

"Charlie, you…"

"Awful," he interrupted quickly, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you look awful!"

Hermione felt a bit self-conscious; it had been a while since the last time she had considered her appearance. Flashes of that first afternoon in Draco's bedroom made her catch her breath. She had wanted so much for him to want her!

"I-"

"Don't fret about it! We'll have you fixed up soon enough."

In a charmingly debonair fashion, Charlie offered her his arm.

"Come on, then. Let's get out of this bloody cold and home where you can get warm and have a proper meal."

Hermione said nothing about not being hungry and simply allowed Charlie's exuberant pace lead her along for awhile. There was something vital about him; there had always been something vital about each of the Weasleys.

"D-do you cook?" she asked as they moved through the crowd that was leaving the station.

"Holy hell, Hermione! A man doesn't cook!" he exclaimed pointedly, his eyes sparkling in a teasing fashion. For a few moments the sadness was gone. "I've got Angelina to do the lot of cooking and keeping house. She's the one that helps maintain this girlish figure," he finished with a coquettish wink, rubbing his belly.

Hermione, still overwhelmed by what was happening blinked but was unable to laugh at his obvious attempts to make her do so.

"A-angelina lives with you?"

Charlie laughed and then steered Hermione into town towards a tall, brick building.

"Indeed she does. Although she's not the only one, as you'll find out soon enough. We have people come through all the time. Sometimes St Davids cottage becomes Hotel Charlie."

They walked in between the brick building and one made of some sort of limestone with a brightly colored awning in the front.

"Here we are," Charlie said with an upbeat tone that didn't match the sadness that had once again replaced the twinkling in his eyes.

Hermione watched as he pulled out a rather odd looking sock.

"It's a sock?"

"It's a rather hideous one at that," replied the red-headed rogue. "Sort of like the mess mum used to knit us for Christmas. You remember?"

Hermione's heart swelled at those memories of Christmas time at the Burrow back when life had been simpler and significantly more joyful.

"Yes," she whispered.

Charlie reached for her hand and then hesitated when he saw she was not moving.

"It's a Portkey. Should get us back to the cottage in record time," he joked with a wink.

Hermione realized how silly she must have looked in that moment but she had forgotten what it was like to be a witch and use simple things like the Floo Network and Portkeys.

Charlie shrugged.

"I suppose we could Apparate or Floo but I think sometimes the British Ministry has less control over what Portkey goes where and all that. I'd rather stay one step ahead of them, thank you very much. Although I imagine things in London were much, much worse."

This time there was no mistaking the sympathy that shone in Charlie's eyes. Hermione swallowed once and then twice, for there was a lump in her throat that made it impossible to speak. When she did, the words came out as croaks.

"It was awful."

Charlie nodded, that same sad look in his eyes seemingly amplified.

"That's what they all say."

"W-who?"

Behind them a truck roared by and then the laughter of a woman could be heard before it melted into the rest of the sounds beyond the empty alley.

"The others," he explained. "We hear the same thing from all the Muggle-borns that are rescued and brought to Wales. Many of them stay with us. That's why I called it Hotel Charlie, remember?"

Mutely, the younger witch nodded although she looked rather dazed. Charlie was patient, however.

"Mine is a safe house, Hermione. It's a place where Muggle-borns can find succor, if only for a few days or a couple of weeks. There are wizards and witches just like me offering their homes as refuges for those who have no other place to go. More and more of those are springing up along the coast, you know. Gives them some hope."

Hermione took a breath.

"And-and then?"

She suddenly heard the echoes of Draco's voice in her mind.

_Then…then you'll be safe._

Charlie shrugged. A gust of wind ruffled his longish hair against the white collar of his dress shirt. He shivered.

"Then they move on. There's loads of work in Wales. Besides some voracious support in Scotland and a few strongholds there, Voldemort hasn't gotten control of much beyond England. Thank Merlin for that. There are hospitals, pubs…"

He sighed.

"It's not like it was since the Ministry fell to those sodding wankers but at least it's a start."

There was a heavily silence as Hermione swallowed hard and tried to push the bitterness from her mind. Yes, she knew all too well how it would never be the same. The only thing that she had to cling to was the love and loyalty of one Death Eater. The irony! She wondered if any of them, if Charlie or Angelina, Ginny, Neville – would understand why she had done what she had done and why she loved Draco Malfoy.

Her fear was that she'd never find out. But at least her love for Draco would keep her strong and for right now, that was enough.

"You and Angelina…?"

Charlie looked startled for a second and as Hermione gazed up into his overly freckled, troubled face she saw once more that deep-seated sadness in the depths of his eyes.

"G-George."

It was the first time since her arrival that Hermione could both feel and _hear _his pain. She knew without asking, knew out of instinct, that George was dead.

_Lord knows I've had my share of pain but…_

Charlie had lost both of his parents to the cause. He had lost his younger twin brothers, Ron and…perhaps his older brother as well. He had lost more family than Hermione wanted to admit. And yet still somehow he found it in his heart to be joyful. He _still_ wanted to help.

_There's still life in him! He won't stop fighting and I have to learn how to do that!_

Hit with this realization, Hermione's eyes filled with hot tears of emotion and gratefulness. Charlie's actions spoke for themselves; he was selfless and stubborn in the face of pain and loss.

_It's how I ought to be!_

"Charlie."

She reached to offer some sort of comfort though she knew there was little to spare. The Ministry had not only tried to destroy those who didn't belong in their new world but also those just like they were who happened to think differently. They simply didn't care about the worth of a human being, of the fact that fundamentally every person was the same. They didn't value life at all.

Charlie leaned against the wall, unable to look at Hermione, his face moving against the pain that he wanted desperately to hide.

"George thought that…he'd come to Romania, you know, to find me. He thought I could help gather foreign forces against Voldemort and I immediately jumped at the chance. Watching my whole family sacrifice themselves to oppose the Ministry, well, I wasn't going to let them fight it alone. Every hand helps."

His eyes were solemn when they finally met Hermione's.

"I admired Fred and George. They never shirked responsibility no matter what mum said. They fought a good fight, until the end. I only wish-"

Hermione watched Charlie as he broke down for a few seconds, lowering his head so that she wouldn't have to see. When he looked up again his eyes were dry and his jaw trembled slightly.

"I only wish I had been with them to the very end."

Hermione took a breath.

"I know how that feels," she whispered thinking first of Ron and the horrible fire that had taken his life. Then she thought of Draco and what she had given up.

Charlie and Hermione stood in reverent silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

"George never made it to Romania. He…died along the way. There's danger out there if you're alone and for the longest time it was only him and Angelina. She…she came alone. When she made it to St Davids I couldn't…"

His rugged face took on a softer, more wistful expression.

"I couldn't turn her away. She was only doing what George had wanted. She told me what the WERA wanted and why George had fled England to come find me. And I knew then what I was supposed to do."

Charlie paused, taking a breath.

"He was a lucky chap, my brother. Angelina's a great girl and she loved him immensely. Even though she had responsibilities to the WERA, she would have followed him anywhere. And she did. That sort of love is rare."

Hermione listened her heart thumping anxiously. Yes, that sort of love was rare. And so was the kind that made a Death Eater give up all he had believed in to protect a Mudblood and keep her safe from harm even though it caused him pain to do so.

_Oh, Draco!_

Her gut reaction was so deeply emotional even Charlie noticed.

"You look peaky, Hermione...?"

She shook her head, feeling a bit strange.

"No, I just…I'm just thinking."

He sighed and nodded.

"I'm sorry; I keep thinking about what I'm going through but everyone's got it rough, I reckon."

Charlie reached over to touch her hand for a second so that she looked up. His face had lost the hard lines from before and he offered a smile.

"You were good to Ron. Lord knows I knew too much about you long before I knew you."

There was a laugh and Hermione thought back on those innocent, long-ago days.

"You were his first and only love, Hermione."

"And it took him ages to realize that. At first, he acted like a stubborn, daft prat."

Charlie laughed.

"Part of a man's charm, I say."

In spite of her grief, she let out a strange giggle.

"But I loved him anyway," she finished in a choked whisper.

Charlie's laugh died and he offered another sigh.

"He was lucky."

"We never had a life together. I don't call that luck, Charlie. We ran for our lives, we never had a moment to think of our future, of a family…of anything."

The resentment was evident in her tone and the set of her jaw. Charlie watched her.

"True. But at least he died knowing someone loved him as much as he loved her. And nothing, not even the God damned Ministry could ever…or _will_ ever take that from either of you."

Hermione stared, too choked to speak. Her eyes burned.

"Come on then, no time for tears," he said nodding towards the ugly blue and purple sock that lay between them.

Charlie's voice was not harsh but neither was it gentle. She was reminded again of the staunch determination necessary in the face of the oppressive life that they had been forced to live and she blinked her tears away angrily.

_No more tears._

Hermione leaned down and took a huge breath. The familiar and yet alien feeling of being sucked up into nothing overcame her and she shut her eyes tightly just as Charlie clasped his large hand over her small one.

Then, they were gone.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

_Memorial Magical Clinic, Cardiff, Wales_

Healer Neville Longbottom's private quarters were located on the top floor of the Clinic, quite close to the tea and waiting lounges designated for hospital visitors. Very few people ventured down that part of the corridor for Neville spent little time in his quarters and because he kept a close watch on who came and went.

The rooms were quite large (in fact, too large for Neville's rather modest tastes) and contained high bookshelves full of medical tomes and books on botany of a large variety, both wizarding and Muggle alike. The Muggle volumes were tucked discreetly in the nooks and crannies of his overstuffed shelves. It wasn't that Neville was ashamed of his interest in Muggle medicine; he wasn't. It was simply a protective tactic for, if he got in trouble, there would be one less person to fight against the cause.

The opposite wall behind his massive desk was occupied by three windows, covering floor to ceiling and adorned with thick, velvet draperies in a deep maroon color. The color brought out the dark woodwork all around and the whole effect was calming to Neville. The name of the healing game was calmness. The door to the corridor beyond was on the eastern side of the room and the western wall held a large stone fireplace with an ornate, iron grate. It was the only one in the whole of the building created especially as a connection to the Floo Network of wizarding Wales. All the fireplaces in the kitchens were just that – ordinary, everyday fireplaces.

Neville hardly used the Floo because he feared the influence of the Ministry even though its fingers had not yet found a strong purchase outside of England. Plus, he preferred face to face interaction because he had always felt himself inadequate and too bloody shy in social situations. Such was life and he had come to terms with that being just one of several faults he would have to live with.

When not with patients, Neville preferred the seclusion of his private rooms, spending most of his time catching up with the Alliance and offering whatever help he could. Most mornings were spent in his office and the free afternoons in large room adjacent- his laboratory.

The morning he received his first Floo message in over a week dawned frigid but beautiful. Dappled sunshine came in through the wide windows of his office bringing with it a heart-lightening joy. Mornings were often Neville's favorite time of the day for only then could he study his books and drink a soothing cup of ginger and mandrake root tea (his own special concoction, which helped awaken and rejuvenate and so he equated it with Muggle caffeine, only healthier). Sometimes he sat in the silence only broken by the large, ticking clock on the fall in front of him. Other times he read to the mellow voice of Myron Wagtail. Neville had been personally upset when the Weird Sisters had broken up shortly after fall of the Ministry. He had always been a fan of their eclectic, rock sound. It was rather surprising for normally, he preferred order and structure in everything, including his musical choices. However, there had been something about the Weird Sisters. Fortunately for him, and most other appreciators of fine music, Myron had gone on to release several records of solo music which Neville had purchased with much anticipation.

The morning of the Floo message, he had just finished his second cup of tea and had chosen to listen to something by Mozart instead of his usual fix of Wagtail's strange, crooning voice. For the life of him concentrating on the textbook lying open on his desk was impossible. Just down the hall, his strawberry plants had matured to their peak and not only were they glorious to look at, he had just finished making a potion that he would add the berries to which would help with treatment of several different skin rashes. It was the last of his research for that particular project and if it went well, he was to receive his second publication in _The Practical Potioneer_. Though strawberries were not unknown to rash treatment, Neville had been the first Healer to combine both the berry and a drinkable potion into one, hoping to heal rashes from the inside out. He had already begun to add it to a simple boil cure potion to determine its possible effects.

Though the strawberry project had seemed rather successful, Neville was not a man taken to being idle, and already he had begun research on something new- namely the beautiful, white-flowered Black Haw bush. He eventually intended to add mature flowers to calming draught in hopes of creating a treatment to alleviate stress and pain for pregnant women. But before that could happen he preferred to do research and make sure that he did not leave any corner unsearched. It was his way; he was a man who valued order.

Neville looked into his teacup and sighed.

_Maybe that's why Luna and I never got on. She's got this…strange outlook on life. No order at all. Could I have handled it?_

He didn't know. But one thing he did know was that in spite of the ginger, he was having trouble concentrating on his research. Unfortunately, this project happened to be quite personal to him, for it was Angelina Johnson who had inspired his interest in all things pregnancy related and he hoped to create something useful for all women who chose to have children. He was her Healer but that didn't mean he couldn't help anyone he could along the way.

In the end, Neville gave up and he stood turning to face the windows. He winced as a shot of pain ran through his body and made his bad leg ache tremendously. He hoped that the research on black haw would yield something beneficial for body pain because his typical charms and potions weren't helping much and if the pain got worse he wouldn't be able to help out at his own hospital much longer.

_I'll die before I let that happen._

Neville closed his eyes against the pain and stretched once more, taking a huge breath. That was when he heard the stirring from the massive fireplace behind him and saw the brilliant, emerald flames licking along the handsome, iron grating.

"Neville?"

Angelina's head appeared in the flames and he limped across the room towards the fireplace.

"Bad morning?"

"Never bad enough to not keep going."

It had been his standard answer to anyone who questioned the pain he went through. Then he peered more closely into the emerald fire.

"Is everything all right?"

The girl in the flames smiled up at him.

"Charlie and I have some news. A visitor that I'm sure you're going to want to know about."

Neville knew that news was nearly always bad these days. Yes, the Alliance was gaining momentum but alongside that were always those bitter, aching losses that caused the heart to suffer. He sat down and as Angelina began to speak, he was glad he had.

It had not been bad news after all, but it made Neville wonder if Luna had been right when she had told him that something was coming. Something good.

* * *

><p><em>WERA hideout – unknown location<em>

Blaise Zabini clutched the small missive in his hand staring at the neat, even printing with horror and some shock. The short communication was written on paper that had once been a part of the Daily Prophet, a simple scrap from what looked like the advertising section and it was smeared with dirt and grease. He stared at it as if offended for the condition of the letter itself and the message by the sender reminded him in a sudden, painful way what one stood to lose and what one had given up when opposing the Ministry.

_I haven't given up a bloody, damned thing, that's what! I chose my family; I chose my life! Fuck them and their egotistic, bigoted thinking!_

It had been months. The WERA had become his safe haven; it had become the only haven he knew for Lavender and Daisy, too. Though reluctantly, Blaise had joined the forces of the resistance as they battled against the outbreaks of the Ministry's wrath. Though the Ministry had tightened their control of the Floo, of using Portkeys, of Apparition points and even sources of communication, those who resisted had begun to find ways to thwart the growing efforts of Voldemort and his minions.

More and more had joined the Alliance; small groups had risen up within the countryside and along the borders of England and even more on the outside -in Wales, Scotland and Ireland. The growing numbers being added to the Alliance meant only one thing to Blaise.

The heartbeat of the Ministry would begin to weaken and slow. In time its evil heart would cease to beat, but the waiting was agonizing.

In the uncertain meantime the Alliance worked hard to increase their numbers. Witches and wizards, including Filius and Minerva, were working on new forms of communication. Others were gathering stores of supplies to use for food and medicinal purposes. There were efforts being made to create means of travel, including makeshift brooms charmed to fly for short periods of time and even training classes for the Muggle borns who had not been able to retrieve their wands. Many of them were not choosing to flee after escaping the Ministry, instead training and facing what was to come.

_After all, some of them will die anyway and what cause could be nobler than to fight on the side of the Alliance?_

Soon enough, the Ministry would have to face the resistance and Blaise had a feeing it would not be pretty.

_That is no less than what they deserve._

The neat penmanship seemed strange against the dirty, smeared scrap of paper and Blaise read it again with a growing anxiousness.

_It has been awhile, my friend. I will not know if this letter has reached you but if there is a God perhaps you are reading this wherever you are. She is safe; I know you will understand what I'm saying. The Ministry can't find her now for I have chosen to return to London on my own. It is for the best. I ask only one thing of you. She will come to find Potter and the children. I imagine not right away but eventually. Before she does I implore you to tell Potter I am dead. I cannot have Potter associating me with her; I want her safe and that is paramount. What was between us is in the past; even if I wanted to be with her it is impossible. It is better if they believe I have fallen. Perhaps it will be the truth eventually for I no longer know how much time I have left. How much time anyone here has left. _

_~D_

Blaise stared down at the missive unblinkingly, his eyes burning the effort. A shiver of foreboding danced down his spine and he trembled visibly. Something about those last few words seemed too dire for words. Perhaps some people could not be saved. But he had hoped that Malfoy wouldn't be amongst them.

* * *

><p><em>Several hours later<em>

Bright sunlight streamed in through the filmy curtained windows as Ginny stared out along the back of the house where they had all taken refuge. Being a part of the Alliance meant that a house was never a home; she valued her freedom (however constricting it seemed) but she pitied having to watch her children grow up in such an environment. She feared that James, Albus and Lily would never know what it was like to feel stability and would never find a place where they could create roots.

_Someday…_

Ginny gripped the poorly painted parapet for a few moments and then sighed. She truly wanted to believe in the silver lining of her proverbial black cloud. Each morning she awakened amongst those she called friends and loved professors, each time that the Alliance won a small victory against the mounting Ministry forces, every smile from her healthy, whole children served to keep the glimmer of hope inside of her alive.

There would never be complete happiness; she would always feel the poignant loss of her husband and all those that had come after him. She had lost many friends. She had watched much of her family perish. Hermione, the only person in the whole world that Ginny felt knew her, was gone as well.

_When this cruelty is finally over, how will I be able to pick up the pieces? Will there even be enough to recreate a semblance of life?_

She knew that there was no time to think on the sad, heavy thoughts that plagued her waking hours; there was always something to do, someone to help and plans to make. And that was what Ginny had been focusing on for months.

The door behind her announced that someone had entered the room by its ominous, annoying creak. When Ginny turned it was Seamus that stood uncertainly in the doorframe.

"Howya, Gin?"

"All right, I suppose."

Ginny could tell from the change in his expression that he sensed her sadness.

"Bad time, is it?"

Ginny took a breath and shook her head, red hair glinting nearly gold in the sunlight.

"No. The children are with Luna this afternoon and I just…needed to think."

Seamus walked in after finding Ginny unopposed to company and joined her by the large window. Ginny offered him a weary smile and Seamus returned the gesture. It was strange how much kindness could be found in just a smile; it had taken Ginny the loss of her husband to learn such appreciation. She recalled times in her life when smiles had meant so little, when just the company of a friend hadn't been enough. Now everything was different. The problems of the past seemed so…petty in the face of everything she had gone through since then.

"Nasty battle, to be sure."

Seamus nodded towards Ginny's left hand which was wrapped in a clean bandage. She looked down at her arm without much emotion, shrugging it away. She was touched at his concern nevertheless.

"It was. The battles along the borders are always the toughest."

The simple phrase hardly encompassed Ginny's weariness and the fear she often felt when facing the Ministry in battle. It was as if no matter how many times the Alliance took a stand there were always more Death Eaters to fight against. Sometimes the opposition was weak but the most recent face-off had been a tough one.

"How is Lee?"

Ginny had taken a rather nasty fall whilst casting several defensive charms to protect Lee who had fallen in battle. Death had seemed the likely outcome after the fight but somehow the sturdy man had survived.

"Taking all of Poppy's attention, he is," replied Seamus with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "But never was there a tougher bloke."

Ginny nodded and heaved another quiet sigh as the silence fell between them again.

"I might be thick as brick, Gin, but it's sure I am something's wrong."

Ginny turned her head.

"What do you think happened to all those that we haven't heard from in ages?"

"I haven't got a baldy."

"There was another group of Muggle-borns leaving London a week ago. I heard Dean whispering about it," she muttered.

Her eyes shone a bit from unshed tears of frustration.

"It's just that-"

She swallowed.

"I just keep wondering about Hermione! Where she is now and if she's alive!"

The words tumbled for in her growing agitation as her eyes searched Seamus'.

"Each time I hear about what's going on in London, I swear! I just…I don't understand why she had the chance and didn't take it!"

The silence seemed much heavier than normal.

"He was after taking care of her, so he was."

Seamus' voice was thoughtful. Ginny's head shot up and her face was a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

"Who? Malfoy?"

"Sure, he's a right gobshite, but Gin, I talked to her."

Ginny pressed her lips together feeing a flood of resentment against Malfoy and everything that had happened. Somehow it was impossible to believe that Hermione _loved_ him, no matter what he had done for her. How could anyone love a man who had sided with such evil? Who had willingly been branded with the sign of the devil himself if such a thing existed? She trembled.

Not Hermione. Not the woman who had loved and married Ron. It just wasn't possible. Still the memory of that fiery, windy night rushed back to Ginny. She saw the tears in Hermione's eyes and her determination to stay behind while the others escaped just so she could stay with-

"I know," she whispered turning her burning face away. "I know what she _said. _I know that youtalked to her. But that doesn't make things any different and-"

Seamus' touch was gentle, his fingers lingering on her bandaged arm for a few moments.

"She asked would I look after you. Would I check on the children? She loves you, she does."

Ginny's lips were a thin white line now as were the fingers that had clamped down on the parapet in front of her. When she spoke the words were tearful.

"I hate bloody feeling this way!"

Her utterance was nothing short of a plea for help. Tears finally came, hot and shameful.

"I hate feeling like she abandoned us when all I wanted for her was safety! I miss her! I want her in my life and I feel like she tossed us aside for-"

Seamus gathered Ginny into his arms so that the words she used to describe and belittle Draco Malfoy were muffled against his jumper. He had often wondered what had happened to the fiery, determined girl he recalled from their school years. Sure, life had been cruel, snatching away her husband and all her joy but she was still alive and often times Seamus felt like the hope had died in her a long time ago.

He fought to try and bring it back.

"But you're not alone, are ya? We've all had to do everything in our power to survive, sure. It's no more or less for Hermione."

Ginny wiped tears away with vehement swipes.

"You don't understand! I saw the way they treated her at the alienage, the way Malfoy-"

She was interrupted by Blaise Zabini's abrupt entrance. The door had been flung open and he stood there watching the two of them, a perturbed expression on his dark, exotic features.

"Funny that you should be talking about him."

"Who?"

Malfoy."

There was a heavy silence.

"He's dead."

The words were simple, the announcement lacking the heaviness that it should have had under normal circumstances. A gasp issued from Ginny.

"A-and…what about-"

Somehow it was impossible to mention Hermione. Ginny did not want to know if the impossible had happened.

_Hermione can't be dead!_

Blaise's face was an infuriating, unemotional mask.

"They found him in London and they suspect the Ministry. He was alone."

Then his eyes flickered towards Ginny with something like sympathy.

"She wasn't with him; she hasn't been with him in a long time. Some have said she escaped a long time ago. Others don't know what's become of her. Right now, no one can hazard a guess."

Blaise watched as Ginny Potter paled so that the freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks stood out almost garishly. Next to her the Irish chap wore a similar expression. It was just as well; shock was preferable to them knowing the truth. Draco hadn't wanted them to, and until Blaise could speak with the other man, he would keep the secret.


	51. Chapter 51

_This is late, I know! Thank you so much, as always. I will be in touch with you all soon but I wanted to post this update today. It's been crazy busy here as I'm not home much I can't update as quickly as I would like. I'm participating in a Valentine's Drabble Challenge at Live Journal and will be writing my first ever piece for a Dramione fic exchange on AO3 – so look out for those! In this next part, Hermione and Neville meet again and she gets the shock of her life. I think you will all like it! _

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE<p>

* * *

><p><em>St David, Wales<em>

_One week later_

The cottage in which Charlie lived with Angelina was a picturesque scene of old, towering trees covered with sparkling snow in winter and thick, luscious leaves in the springtime. It sat tucked behind those trees on a gently sloped hill near the sea, and one could see the distant view of the channel from the front windows. It was small, though not unbearably so, with large, square windows and a sturdy stone foundation. The roof was simple but steep with a handsome chimney made of the same stone as the rest of the house. The structure sat at the top of a well-kept path lined with more trees which eventually gave way to open land that led to the sea.

Neville stood on the bottom of the gentle slope that led up to the cottage admiring the stark yet beautiful view. For a few moments, he did nothing but take it in. In the summertime it was a glorious vision indeed but even in the dead of winter it was lovely. Behind him the sea lay spread like quicksilver and it churned and lapped against clay-colored sands. The winter sunlight gleamed off the rippling surface in a weak reflection. No one was about and at that moment Neville felt a poignant, sad loneliness.

He knew that once he got inside the cottage and there was firelight, tea, a hot meal and warm conversation the feeling would pass but somehow while he was alone staring out at the vast sea unfurled before him, Neville always felt lonely. On that late afternoon he felt a strange, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still he was unable to believe what Angelina had told him.

It was true that Neville had expected bad news; his reaction was automatic because too many bad things had happened since the fall of the Ministry. He had not lost hope but neither was he a fool. Therefore, good news was a pleasant surprise. And the news about Hermione, well, it had been…

_Merlin's beard!_

Neville hadn't heard from Hermione after fleeing Hogwarts. They had been in the same year at school, shared the same struggles, learned the same lessons and most importantly, fought the same battles. He had admired her. He had esteemed her. She had been the kind of girl all the blokes admired, really. Though ever demonstrative, Neville's feelings for Hermione, Ron and Harry had been of greatest admiration. They hadn't just been classmates; they had been his _friends._

_The first real friends I ever had…_

Ron had always made Neville laugh; Hermione had always been there with a word of advice or to help with their lessons, especially Potions. Merlin knew Neville had needed it and she had been endlessly patient. And Harry – if there had been anyone that Neville had emulated…

_I can't believe he's dead. I can't believe he's been dead for so long now and I've done nothing-_

He cut the track of the self-hatred train rather abruptly and then stared up at the stark, ethereally beautiful gray and white scene before him. The chimney of Charlie's cottage puffed out white, billowing clouds of smoke.

Ron had died so suddenly and in such a tragic manner shortly after Harry. Neville had never gotten to say good-bye to either of them and sometimes, on his worst days, it bothered him. Why had he lived? Why had Ron and Harry not survived?

_I've done bloody nothing! Harry hunted horcruxes our last year, risked his arse and tried to save all of us and I ran like a sodding pile of crap._

Once more Neville tried to stop his train of thought with determination and began to make the short walk up the hill towards the inviting cottage. He pushed through the constant pain in his leg but the trek up the hill was slow going for him. As he walked his tumultuous thoughts would not give him rest.

Sure, there had been other battles after Hogwarts. Many of them, in fact, and for awhile Neville had fought as hard as he could. He had fought as hard as that day at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries. Nothing had seemed as daunting a task and never had he been as scared as he had been that long ago day at the Ministry. But in spite of that, he had never quite forgiven himself for failing Harry, for not finding the Sword of Gryffindor.

_If I had somehow gotten that sword! I could have helped him; Voldemort could have perished that day! But he hadn't and we were all forced to run, weren't we? Could I have done more? Could I have been what I should have been? _

A gust of wind hit Neville head on and his eyes watered though he wondered if that was only from the cold. He groaned against a spasm of pain and stopped moving uphill for a few moments.

Harry had run, Hermione, Ron and Ginny with him. Others had fled as well, and those who had stayed had surely perished. The battle of Hogwarts had ended badly and many had realized that their lives were at stake and the only way was to flee, recoup and try once more. That was all there was left, even now, was to try again and again.

Neville took a breath and then continued the painful climb towards the cottage.

He had never seen Harry or Ron again.

_Bloody hell, if I had known that night was the last time I'd see them I'd have...said something profound. I don't even remember if I said good-bye._

Neville blinked as he stared down at his gloved hands for a few moments. Funny how he couldn't remember anything he had said to them that last day.

He had heard, years later, that Harry had married Ginny. Then he had heard about Ron and Hermione. It had given Neville a sense of peace for at least they had been happy for a few moments. And Ginny had raised three children who would carry on Harry's name. Three beautiful, precious and precocious children who had reminded Neville of Harry the first time he had met them after they had escaped from the alienage. He only prayed and hoped that Albus, James and Lily would survive the ordeals now and find the peace and freedom that they deserved.

Thinking about Ginny and Harry's children caused Neville to think about Hermione.

Ginny had confided in him while he given the children thorough checkups after they had gone into hiding. She had spoken to him of Draco Malfoy and of the fiery night Justin Finch-Fletchley had died and she had fled the alienage with the children hoping that Hermione would come with her. And she hadn't. Neville wasn't daft but he often wasn't the first to catch on to things. But even _he_ had no trouble seeing how hurt Ginny had seemed; it had made him want to put his arms around her for a few moments if simply to offer his strength because she had seemed to be so weak. Ginny had offered no great details about what Hermione had gone through at the alienage apart from a few muffled whispers of Pansy Parkinson, so Neville had only rumors to go on.

And the only things he had heard were whispers about the horrors and depravity that the Ministry had put the Muggle-borns through.

_Hermione isn't the sort who would allow that to happen for long, is she? If Malfoy had offered her a way out-_

But he didn't know enough to really believe anything at all.

_But now, I will!_

The prospect of seeing Hermione Granger once again filled Neville with a kind of joy he hadn't felt in years, since school, really. She reminded him of better times, of schoolbooks, Herbology, and the Great Hall. Oh, he knew that times were different now; he was different and she, too, had changed. Still, a part of him couldn't quell the feeling of happiness in spite of the sadness she had been through.

_I'll help her, _he determined as he began to make the last half of the climb to the cottage, pushing through is pain. _I'll help her heal; I'll be the friend she was to me._

By the time Neville reached the snowy crest of the hill the front door of the cottage had been opened and Angelina ushered him in immediately. The room was warm and the fire glowing brightly in the hearth.

"Crikey, Nevie Longbuttocks, took you long enough to get here!"

Charlie had gotten up from his place at the wooden kitchen table that sat by a large window just as Neville gave him a cross look.

"I reckon that's not my name, is it?" he replied always annoyed with Charlie's teasing even though it was obviously harmless.

A very pregnant Angelina shook her head but interceded for Neville which was the norm.

"Leave him be, Charlie. It was rather funny the first time but now it's gotten a bit old."

She offered Neville a smile.

"I'm glad you got here as soon as you could."

Neville took off his traveling coat.

"It's been busy. I've had loads of supplies to send out and there are too many patients this time of year what with the weather."

Angelina nodded with understanding as Charlie came over to clap his hand over Neville's back.

"You hungry, mate? Angelina's been cocking about the kitchen all afternoon but there's still no food to be had."

"Sod off, Charlie," said Angelina moving to hang Neville's coat on one of their chairs.

The exchange was obviously one of affection between the two. Charlie rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Neville who was quite good at reading others' emotions wondered at his obvious good mood. Perhaps it was that they hadn't seen Charlie Weasley in good spirits since George's death and it was such a stark difference from what they had gotten used to.

"I could make you a cuppa," offered the red-haired man. "You probably need warming up, yeah?"

Neville accepted with a smile and watched as Angelina put on the pot and then join him at the rickety kitchen table. Neville's propensity for caring kicked in straight away.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," replied the woman rubbing her belly absently. "The baby kicks so much I think his future is in football."

Charlie pulled out some cracked teacups and then laughed.

"There'll be no doubt that baby is George's," he announced.

Neville and Angelina could tell that Charlie's effort was to make the phrase sound casual but there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. Wordlessly, Neville rummaged around the rucksack he had brought along with him, pulling out a small ream of parchment.

"It's research," he explained, sliding it along the table towards her. "On something new I'm working on for a prenatal potion of sorts."

Angelina's eyes sparkled as she offered Neville a smile.

"I'm lucky. I reckon I've got the best bloody Healer in all of Wales!"

Neville blushed, for in spite of receiving many accolades over the last few years he was still unsure of how to react to praise.

"It-it's nothing, really. Just a plant I was reading about that might help with muscle pain and…"

He faded away when Angelina began reading and looked up at Charlie who was pouring the tea.

"So…how is she?"

When the tea was ready, the tall red-haired man brought it all to the table.

"I wondered when we'd get around to all that."

Charlie scratched his head as he spoke quickly.

"We don't right know, actually. She's been here a week and hardly says a word. She eats and spends most of her time sleeping. Poor bird, I say."

Neville sipped the hot tea and winced as he burned his tongue. Charlie smirked.

"Watch out, mate. Tea's hot."

Ignoring the playful jab, Neville swallowed and spoke.

"She's been…I imagine she's been through much. It would make sense for her to sleep."

Angelina sighed.

"And eat. Her appetite is insatiable."

"That too," replied Neville thoughtfully.

Charlie had joined them at the table.

"What's got me is the fact that she won't tell us a thing!" he exclaimed with obvious irritation. "Blimey, she was my brother's _wife _for Merlin's sake! Being related should count for something, yeah?"

Angelina looked at Charlie patiently.

"Except that you've only met her one time, Charlie. Bill's wedding hardly counted, didn't it? I wasn't good friends with her either."

She glanced at Neville her eyes slightly pleading.

"You were her friend. Maybe she'll talk to you."

Neville had finished half his cup of tea which was rather impressive given the fact that it was scalding hot. He cleared his throat.

"When did she get here?"

"Last week," replied Charlie. "We knew. When Bernie drives that old lorry it only means supplies or refugees."

"And she's told you nothing?"

"Only that she had managed to escape London and had come from that horrid alienage run by that git Draco Malfoy."

Neville was silent thinking back to Ginny and what she had told him of the fiery night of her escape.

"If that's the case, she could have escaped with Ginny and the others. She could have been free ages ago. Why now?"

No one knew the answer to that but Neville wondered what it had to do with Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Hermione opened her bleary eyes and stared at the wood and plaster ceiling above her head. A thin stream of light played along its surface from behind a thick curtain that someone had pulled against the window. She was used to the ceiling; she was used to the room, but every time she awoke, Hermione still found herself a bit disoriented and terrified that the Ministry had found her. It would take a few moments for her heart to stop racing. She slept a lot that first week of freedom and in spite of it feeling like it was a waste, her body had cried out for rest and she had found it in the warmth of a rickety camp bed and an old down comforter of Charlie's.<p>

As she slept she was only half aware of her dreams.

Hermione had long ago gotten used to nightmares; they had plagued her from the moment of her escape after the battle of Hogwarts through the terrifying night of the flat raids and through all her months at the horrid alienage. The only reprieve from the clutches of horrific dreams had been those few moments she spent in the arms of a certain man with the Mark on his arm. She had stopped referring to him as a Death Eater. After all, titles meant nothing; the Ministry had made sure of that. The only thing that mattered was loyalty. Death Eater or not, if you did not fall in line with the Ministry's heartless beliefs you were no better than those they were prejudiced against.

Sometimes when Hermione first woke she would still feel the hard warmth of his flesh against hers, soft and calloused all at once. She would breathe in and the musk of his skin and the tiniest hint of mint and smoke would tickle her senses. She would recall the way his eyes would linger on hers just a bit too long, filling her with a growing heat and a pleasurable tension. Those moments in his bed were the happiest ones Hermione had. Perhaps the happiest she would ever be given.

_What if he dies? What if I never see him again? _

He had asked her to live. Once more Hermione tried to push his words out of her mind not wanting to be happy without him and hating herself for not doing what he wanted her to. How could she lie about him? How could she be happy?

Turning in the small bed, Hermione pulled the comforter over her head and cried silent tears as she often did in the mornings.

That first evening, Hermione had been too shocked by her newfound freedom and by seeing old classmates and Ron's brother to say much. Angelina and Charlie had been overly kind, plying her with tea and too much food, tending to the bruises and wounds upon her flesh, offering appropriate sympathies and soothing whispers.

She had been grateful even though it had been too hard in her fog of exhaustion and heartbreak to show it. The worst part hadn't been that Draco was not at her side.

_Angelina…it had been too hard to see her pregnant!_

Hermione covered her flat belly with one hand feeling an aching in her heart and a twinge of pain at the mere thought that if Draco had been a bit quicker, if she had been able to defend herself, if Marcus hadn't-

_My baby!_

Tears pooled in her eyes and slipped down her pale cheeks silently. She cried for Draco and for their great loss. She cried because she felt lost, frightened and confused even amidst friends and such luxuries as a warm bed and plenty of food.

_How horrible I am!_

Shame, too, colored her thoughts and dreams. For why should she have gotten a second chance when so many others had perished? Harry was dead! Tonks and Remus…Moody…Ron, Bill, George and Fred, Percy, Arthur and Molly! What about Justin? What about the countless other friends and acquaintances that she didn't know about? The list seemed endless. They had been innocent, good people, fighting in what they believed in and giving their lives for others.

_And I'm doing nothing._

In spite of the guilt, Hermione found seclusion preferable to the barrage of questions from Charlie and the sympathy she didn't want from Angelina. They were asking too many bloody questions and Hermione had found herself feeling more and more tense, not wanting to divulge all that Draco had told her and how deeply she felt for him. And hiding underneath her comforter was the only place she could find to think and try to pull herself together. Hermione had decided that she'd face all the questions once she felt strong enough to do so.

_But not yet..._

Her belly gave a loud growl as if reminding her that even if she couldn't face questions that there were other, more basic things to live for. One of them was having food whenever she needed it. Though there was never an overabundance, Hermione hadn't seen such copious food since her time at the new Malfoy Manor. That food hadn't been hers for the taking and this time…she was able to have whatever she could eat.

Hermione stood and wrapped the comforter around her shoulders as she walked on wobbly legs towards the wooden door that led to the rest of the cottage. Beyond it she heard voices. Another twinge of pain ran through her as she listened to Angelina chattering on about her pregnancy and how the prenatal potions she was taking seemed to be helping her. There was a moment where Hermione felt she was going to be physically ill; she simply couldn't bear the pain of loss another second and leaned against the door to keep from crying. Tears on an empty stomach apparently caused nausea. Waiting for the aching, horrid feeling to pass, Hermione shut her eyes tightly and pressed her face against the cool, wooden door. She held back her bile as the room spun and then finally, she opened the door to the small sitting room and kitchen beyond.

Hermione stopped in her tracks.

Neville.

She had known that she would see him again but there was nothing that could describe the sudden emotion that unfurled within her, starting in the pit of her belly and slowly filling every inch of her so that she was suddenly filled with warmth.

"N-neville," she whispered as if in awe.

"Hermione," he replied standing.

It was like old times, really. Her jaw trembling, she spoke.

"I thought I'd n-never see you again."

His voice was hoarse.

"When I heard that Harry and Ron had-"

He took a step forward, reaching out towards her tentatively.

"You're limping."

"Just an old war injury," he joked, a smile lighting up his round face.

It made Hermione feel just a bit warmer to see such familiarity after years of coldness and disregard. His light brown eyes took her in for a few moments.

"You…you look thin, Hermione."

"Nothing Angelina's cooking won't fix," whispered Hermione, her face breaking out into a radiant smile.

They fell into each others arms then and Hermione found herself sobbing with joy. He was just a bit taller than she remembered, a bit heavier, but just as soft. Hugging Neville had always been like hugging a huge stuffed bear, just like the ones she had owned as a child. It was comforting and brought peace. He wasn't hard lined like all the other males she had known. Neville wasn't sinew and muscle as much as he was filled out and rounded. Nothing about him was hardened – from the softness of his fingertips, the embrace she found herself in, to the gentleness in his eyes and the huge heart that he possessed.

"God, I'm so glad to see you," she muttered against the fabric of his waistcoat which fit dangerously tight around his middle.

She felt his tightened embrace in response and her earlier fear and restlessness faded into the background.

_It's as if my thoughts are Dementors and his touch is a Patronus._

Neville shifted slightly.

"You don't know the half of it."

It would have been impossible to express how he felt at seeing his old friend once more. They stood there like that for a few seconds until Charlie got up abruptly, pulling on Angelina's arm.

"Come on! Do you and Baby fancy a walk?" he suggested practically dragging the pregnant girl towards the door.

Hermione pulled away from Neville but missed the look between Angelina and Charlie just as they slipped through the front door. The silence that followed was tense even though Hermione didn't want it to be. She looked up at Neville as she lowered herself slowly into a chair, feeling suddenly dizzy by the gamut of emotions assaulting her.

He looked the same and yet different. His eyes held a familiarity as did the crooked smile that played upon his mouth. It was the small things that had changed, Hermione realized. The innocence was gone from his soft, rounded features; his eyes were strangely knowing, touched with pain, regret and the signs of a man who had seen too much. There were tiny lines around his mouth and brushed near his eyes, giving him the appearance of perpetual weariness. The biggest change, however, was the prominent limp that slowed his gait. It was hard not to notice and Hermione could immediately see that it caused him some pain.

Still, he was the same Neville Hermione remembered; he was the boy she had tucked into the box of happy memories so long ago shut away and left untouched.

As she watched him, Hermione couldn't help but speak.

"Neville, how did you…get hurt?" she asked in a low voice.

Neville remained standing as he spoke, unable to look at her.

"Battles," he replied. "There were so many of them I can't even quite remember when this happened. It was a curse, I reckon. Can't quite remember what kind, that."

He shifted a bit, wincing. It saddened Hermione to realize that Neville was just another victim of the Ministry and its cruelty. She reached over to touch his hand for a quick moment, needing the contact.

"Does it hurt much?"

"I manage."

Hermione could feel Neville's affirmation of what she already knew – he hurt badly and simply would not say so. For a moment the strange, tense silence filled the void between them and then Neville began to speak softly once more.

"Hermione, they're worried for you," he began with slight hesitation. "They were hoping…that you'll talk to me."

Hermione sensed hopefulness in his tone and bit her lip before speaking.

"I'm fine Neville. It's nothing a few more days of rest and a meal or two more won't cure, I'm certain."

The man on the other side of the wooden table didn't look convinced, however. He hadn't sat down and instead of doing so, began to rummage around a small rucksack that sat at his feet.

"You'll let me examine you then?"

"Whatever will ease their worry," replied Hermione with a bit more than slight annoyance. She wanted time to gather her thoughts and formulate answers to Charlie's questions. She didn't want barraged by people who were concerned and curious about her.

Turning away from Neville, Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line to keep from speaking her irritation. Neville's touch was surprisingly gentle as he examined her eyes and ears, speaking little and working diligently. She couldn't help but be taken in by his attention to detail and the caring with which he did his work. She realized how truly dedicated he was to the craft he had chosen.

"I heard you have a hospital?"

The question was one of curiosity, for Hermione wondered what she would do next and if what Draco had said would be true. Did Neville need help at the hospital? Would she finally have a real job, after all these years?

He straightened and rummaged once more in the rucksack, pulling out several small vials, some empty and some filled with liquids.

"I do. In Cardiff, actually. I opened it several years ago as a way to help the Alliance. And of course, I'm quite good at…"

He faded away, blushing. Hermione offered up a smile.

"You always were modest," she said with affection. "I've heard good things about your Clinic and you should be nothing but proud of your accomplishments, Neville."

He looked sad for a moment and Hermione was surprised to see a look of guilt cross is features.

"I'm blessed," he muttered. "While everyone was off fighting against the Death Eater Ministry I spent most of my time finishing my schooling and opening that Clinic. I feel…"

But Neville wasn't able to share with her how worthless and guilty he truly felt. Hermione got to her feet slowly, the dizziness coming and then fading. She touched his arm.

"Neville, you've done just as much as any of them! It doesn't matter that you aren't there right now! You're doing your part; everyone does their part somehow."

She thought of Draco; she thought of the Resistance.

Still pink, Neville handed her one of the small phials.

"It's a mixture of Pepperup potion and chamomile," he explained when she hesitated.

Neville wondered at the fearful look on her face and could only deduce that Hermione would forever be uncertain even of those who meant her no ill. He watched as she slowly took the phial.

"It'll make you feel calmer, I promise. I've been working on that one awhile," he continued with a hint of pride. "That and I have this ginger and mandrake root tea…"

Seemingly satisfied that the liquid was what he said it was, Hermione took it in two swallows, wincing at the slight burning sensation that filled her suddenly.

"Seems like you've been working on a whole lot."

He had stepped closer to continue his examination and Hermione's eyes followed his movements. He smelled medicinal – of mint and herbs. Up close she could see that he, like her, was scarred. His fingers, however calloused, offered her comfort.

"What happened to you?" he asked after a moment and Hermione knew he meant the scars that were liberally lashed against her flesh.

"The alienages," she whispered with a shudder. It was hard to put into words what Pansy Parkinson had made her feel. Even after the escape from London and the other woman's part in it, Hermione felt bitterness fill her at the thought of that hot afternoon in the courtyard. Somehow she was able to speak of it, however small and vague her explanation was.

There were several needles in his rucksack and Neville used these for standard blood work that she would have done at a normal clinic. That was, if her life had ever _been _normal. After he was finished capping the various samples, Neville sat down.

"Hermione, I know you hate these questions," he began gently.

The girl shuddered once more, turning he pale face so that there would be no possibility of meeting her wounded gaze. Neville wanted to pry but he knew it would do no good. In the end, he offered silence, standing and walking slowly towards the tea kettle hoping she would speak when she was ready.

In spite of the awkwardness between them, something inside of Neville was changed at seeing Hermione again.

* * *

><p>Charlie and Angelina were gone most of that day and Neville apparated back to his clinic with Hermione's exam results promising he would be back before supper.<p>

Hermione, unnerved by being alone in the cottage, did little but pace back and forth on the worn, wooden floor. Each creak of the floorboards, every crackle of the fire and every time the wind picked up furiously Hermione would jump and her heart would pound viciously inside her chest. She told herself that no one was going to hurt her now that she was free, but again she was reminded how long it would take her mind to truly understand such a thing. The pale sun set along the winter sky casting swathing shadows along the endless horizon. The sky changed slowly, turning a deep, dark navy, but there were no stars that night.

Neville returned first, and she hurried to open the door for him because she preferred company. The first thing she noticed was the startled, perturbed look on his face.

"Is everything all right?" she asked with hesitation, her voice quavering for a moment.

_Please, don't let it be bad news! Please, let everything be just fine!_

Hermione didn't realize she had been holding her breath until her chest tightened uncomfortably. She let out the breath and hurried to follow Neville to the kitchen. In a most frustrating fashion, he said nothing, although she could almost _hear _the questions in his mind.

"Neville-"

He had turned to look at her closely, his expression shadowed and only visible by the warm firelight.

"Hermione, there's something-"

He hesitated, shaking his head and Hermione watched him swallow back words as his expression now grew pained. Her fingers tightened on the counter near where she had set a pot of stew to boil for a late supper.

"Look, if there's something I need to know, you best tell me now."

Her eyes brightened with unshed tears.

"I'm used to pain now, Neville. You don't need to worry about _how_ you tell me."

Her voice was dead. Neville took a shaky breath.

"Did they…when you were at the alienage, what…things did they do to you?"

Hermione's head shot up as she stared at her old friend. It was a strange question; she hadn't expected it.

"I…"

Turning away, she set her jaw painfully.

"I won't talk about it," came her harried whisper. "I can't."

She felt his presence looming behind her but his voice was soft.

"I know they beat you. I can tell by the bruises and scars. We all have them. I know they tore apart your emotions and self-esteem. I know they…"

Hermione's breath had caught and her body tensed.

"Did they rape you?"

Neville's voice was uncertain, riddled with disgust and loathing. Hermione whirled, tears springing to her eyes.

"I-"

No would have been the simple, honest answer, but Hermione knew that her feelings were much more complicated and it was that which made her hesitate.

She thought with horror about Rookwood and Macnair. About the other Muggle-born girls who had met a worse fate than she. About all the women who had sold their bodies and lives to survive. She thought of Lavender's sad eyes and the night she had come to the alienage, still fighting against the Ministry but at the same time, having given up hope long before.

Hermione thought of Marcus Flint and Fenrir Greyback; she wasn't able to get the expressions of gleeful hunger and the smell of depravity out of her mind.

No, she hadn't been raped but still, she felt violated and destroyed. She felt torn apart.

Neville could see a flurry of emotions play across Hermione's pale, terrified face. He knew from her body language that there would be things she would never tell him, horrors that he would never have to endure. He hated the Ministry more with each passing second and cursed them for hurting someone as lovely as Hermione.

How could they have hurt her so? How could she have faced and survived such atrocities? How could any human being treat another with such disregard? And now…

A deep sadness filled him and the words were nearly impossible to speak.

"Hermione, you're pregnant," he whispered. "I can't…imagine…"

Her face turned white and as a strange gasp escaped her as she clapped her hand across her mouth. Her sudden cry was muffled and Neville reached out.

"Hermione, listen to me-"

She pushed against his hand vehemently, tears streaming down her bloodless face and then she turned and fled. The sound of her weeping and the look of shock and sheer disbelief would be indelibly imprinted on Neville's mind from that moment onward.

He was only bitterly disappointed that he could not help her. No one could.


	52. Chapter 52

_I made it up to you guys this time! It only took me three days to put this installment together so I hope you enjoy. Also, I would like to make this an interactive story. So in your next review, let me know what name Draco and Hermione's child should have. I already have the gender picked, so leave both a girl and boy name. If you want, let me know why. I might end up choosing one of the names you guys suggest as I'm not sure what I should call him or her! Oh, and thanks always for your support. _

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO<p>

* * *

><p>The cottage smelled of stew; it made Hermione want to gag and it was all she could do to keep the nausea from rising up and overwhelming her.<p>

She laid in her bed with the comforter pulled up over her head and sobbed into her pillow silently, her frail body shaking from the effort of keeping her shock and heartbreak to herself. As she sobbed, Hermione was aware that Charlie and Angelina had returned and Neville had spent some time telling them what had happened. She could hear the troubled tone of his baritone voice and the way Charlie tried to deflect the growing heavy mood with his jokes. Mixed with that, Hermione could hear Angelina's gentle concern.

She knew that locking herself in the tiny back room would do nothing to assuage their growing worries but Hermione found that the shock at what Neville had revealed made it impossible to _move._ In the darkness of the room around her, she splayed her trembling fingers along her belly.

_Flat._

She pressed gently, a strained hiccup escaping her.

_I'm pregnant?_

Hermione opened her tearstained eyes and pulled the cover off her head, sitting up. Now both hands were resting protectively across her abdomen as she stared down in shock. Her body trembled. Her heart thumped so violently in her chest that she had trouble breathing in between beats.

_It's impossible._

She felt the pounding of her anxiety-ridden heart in ever part of her body…all the way to the tips of her trembling fingers and tiniest toe. She pushed aside the suddenly offending comforter and placed two feet onto the cool, wooden floor.

There was a mirror on the other side of the room and Hermione padded across and gazed into it.

_What would I see if this was the Mirror of Erised? What is it I desire the most? Did I not grieve for a child I will never know and wish that things had been different? Haven't I been given a second-?_

She stopped her train of thought with a strangled gasp. A tear trickled down her face, sparkling in the shadow dimmed moonlight. She stared down at her thin form swathed only in a long, thin nightgown under Angelina's thick dressing gown. She ran her fingers up and down her flat belly, shaking her head. She hadn't had a chance to experience the emotions she was feeling now.

Closing her eyes, Hermione drowned in _feeling._ It was a glorious yet terrifying mixture of elation, fear, shock, disbelief, joy and heartbreak. She felt herself grow dizzy from lack of air and the overwhelming need to both laugh and weep at the same time.

A baby! A tiny, little thing inside of her that was growing, changing, and a living, breathing testament to the love she felt for Draco. A baby with his hair and those beautiful, haunting silver eyes – oh how she hoped it would be true!

Trembling fingers curved around her belly with instinctual protectiveness. This time the Ministry would not steal such a gift; this time she would keep it safe so that she could have this – at least this – to remember…

Then tears streamed down her face again, hot against cool flesh, dripping from her chin and soaking into the cotton dressing gown. There was now a new life, a tiny beating heart inside of her and the baby born would have no father.

Neville had seen her flee and heard her sobbing, but Hermione's tears had been only for Draco and the great pain of loss and the unfairness in the world. For how else could she call it but that? How cruel was it that she had lost a man only to find out she was gaining his child?

Suddenly weak-kneed, Hermione sank to the ground near the mirror, curling up into a tiny ball and allowing herself to have a good, hopeless cry. The pain of losing Draco had been magnified ten-fold by the discovery that she was now carrying his child. Her knees locked with tension and her fingernails dug into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. The realization that she was alone and Draco would not be there to help her raise the baby was almost too much to bear.

_But I have to! I have to because I promised him I would be happy. I have to try! _

And Hermione knew she had to even if it seemed the most daunting task she had ever been faced with. Taking in a shaking breath, she pushed her tear-dampened curls out of her pale, flushed face and stood on shaky legs.

_I have to._

Hands cradling her belly, she walked towards the door. Beyond it she heard the trio of voices speaking in low, concerned tones. Hermione could understand none of them but she grabbed hold of the knob just as she took in a long, steely breath.

The conversation stopped when the curly-haired brunette entered the main room of the cottage. Three heads swiveled in her direction and Hermione felt so confused, heartbroken and frustrated that she wanted to hex away all their sympathy.

Angelina was the first to get up and she moved towards Hermione slowly reaching out.

"Don't."

The warning wasn't a harsh one but it stopped the pretty black girl in her footsteps. Her face fell. Hermione's eyes locked on Neville's worried and uncertain expression.

"How pregnant am I?"

There was a silence. She felt Charlie's eyes on her and behind her Angelina's footsteps were soft against the wooden floor. Neville struggled to speak and when he did Hermione heard the tremble there.

"About…five weeks. Some of the-the things…the potions I was working on they…are able to help detect-"

He stopped his stuttering when he realized Hermione was not truly listening instead staring down at her belly with a mixture of shock and realization. Hermione thought back quickly. Not in the barn. Perhaps…at Pansy's secret flat, that last night before their escape from London in the lorry?

She didn't know but there was no doubt in her mind that the baby was a miracle.

"Is the baby all right?"

There was no emotion in her words and she spoke in a clipped, almost harsh fashion. Waiting to hear Neville's hesitant, nervous response was the worst torture and Hermione wanted to grab and shake it out of him in her fear and frustration.

"Is my baby all right?" she said it again, this time with irritation. She looked up and her pale face was contorted with rage. "After everything I've been through – pain, torture, abuse, beatings, hatred, prejudice, loss, hunger and thirst, disease, loneliness and more beatings – don't tell me that this one THING WILL BE TAKEN FROM ME!"

She stood, rigid with fear and anger, hands clenched in tight fists and body shaking with emotion.

"Hermione, you have to calm down-"

"TELL ME!" she cried out.

Of course it was unrealistic to expect that any of them would understand her pain. They didn't know what she had been through and how much she had lost. They didn't know about Draco and his love and their baby…

Suddenly, anger turned to deep mourning and it was as if the fight was gone from her, leaving in it's wake a weakness that caused Hermione to fall to her knees. Charlie jumped up and hurried to catch her as she fell and the curly-haired woman leaned against him, sobbing.

Neville moved as quickly as he was able to join them.

"Hermione, the baby is fine."

Hermione's face shot up and through the tears Neville saw a smile. The tenseness in her body melted away as she slumped fully against Charlie, burying her face into his shoulder. Moments later, Angelina knelt down and helped Hermione to her feet.

"Come, you should eat," She whispered tenderly. "You've got to be hungry."

With a knowing smile she rubbed her swollen belly with affection. Hermione let out a tear infused laugh.

"Famished," she agreed breathlessly, sitting down at the table and finding herself grateful that she wasn't alone and that she would have someone to help her through the coming months.

Her heart was pounding a fierce rhythm inside of her and it whispered of heartbreak and regret that Draco would not be there with her while she carried his child. The stew that Angelina ladled smelled both nauseating and divine but Hermione fought through the illness wanting to nourish her child, to give it more strength, more strength every second so that it would survive and she would give birth to a healthy, beautiful baby. As she ate, she stared down at the table with intensity not wanting to answer the questions that were clearly present in the faces of the three that stood around her. She also needed to think.

She needed to decide where she would go next, what she would do. How she would provide for herself and the child not yet born. Hermione forced herself to remember that now she was _free, _that Draco had sacrificed much to make sure of it. She wasn't in London any longer; in fact she wasn't even in England! She had escaped the Ministry and now life was once again possessed of possibilities! She could hope again; she could be happy again!

The spoon clattered against the empty bowl in front of her.

_How can I ever repay you for what you've done for me?_

In her mind's eye she saw Draco's stormy, sad eyes.

_Be happy. That's all I want. I want you to be happy._

Hermione knew she'd have to try. Especially since she wasn't living just for herself now, and absently, she put her hand over her belly in a protective fashion. For a long time after they all finished eating, Hermione said nothing.

Neville watched her with a mixture of sadness and admiration. She had been quiet all through supper but he knew his old friend well enough to know when she was formulating a plan in her mind. He gazed at her face pale but for the flushed and dimpled cheeks. Her eyes gleamed with determination and her lips trembled on the edge of a smile as she ate. Physically she sat amongst them but her mind was far away. She acknowledged no one.

He wondered if she would ever speak of the terrors she had endured at the hands of the Ministry; Neville even wondered if anyone would ever know the father of Hermione's baby. A sudden lashing of cold fear filled him. What if she didn't even _know? _What if they had used and abused her so frequently that there was no way of knowing?

Neville didn't even know he was staring. All he could think of was how he could make it better for Hermione now that she was no longer among the enemies. He jumped a bit when Charlie rose from the table and glanced at him.

"Mate, d'you reckon helping me clean up this mess?"

Neville rose dutifully but he was unable to keep from sneaking glances at the brunette sitting with Angelina.

_Oh, Hermione…what have they done to you?_

* * *

><p>Hermione watched listlessly as Angelina used her wand to clean the guest room where she had been sleeping. As the black girl made the bed with a few swishes of her wand, Hermione picked up the discarded dressing gown and comforter she had dropped earlier. Watching Angelina use a wand made Hermione envious, but she was able to swallow back the feeling of inadequacy. If not using her wand for awhile meant she was safe it seemed quite a good trade-off.<p>

_At least I have my wand! Some Muggle-borns will never get theirs back, but I was lucky enough-_

She stopped her thoughts when she realized Angelina was watching her keenly.

"Hermione," she began. "I can't imagine what you've been through all these years. I'm sorry for what's happened."

The words seemed sincere but hesitant. For a moment Angelina stared down at the bed between them thoughtfully.

"I just want you to know that no matter how blustery Charlie seems to be about this whole affair, he's only doing it because he cares. But I won't push you to tell me anything you don't want to."

Another pause.

"You're safe here as long as you want to stay. And if you have any questions you can…well you can always come to me."

Hermione hadn't looked at the other woman the whole time she had been speaking but when Angelina stopped for the last time, the bushy-haired brunette looked up.

"Thank you."

She eyed Angelina's burgeoning belly amazed that at some point she would look like that too. It filled her with a sudden bloom of joy and excitement. She offered a trembling, shy smile.

"What will you call your baby?" she asked softly. For a moment Angelina seemed blissfully happy but then in the next a dark cloud shrouded her features.

"Fred if it's a boy," she whispered. The choked sound of Angelina's voice made Hermione's eyes water. The love was evident even if it was unspoken.

"And Roxanne if it's a girl."

Hermione smiled through the aching, stepping closer to the other woman.

"That's lovely."

"Quite fancy," smiled Angelina. Then she reached to hug Hermione for a moment. "You'll have to think about that yourself. And a lot of other things."

Hermione nodded and looked as if she would say something else but didn't.

Angelina walked towards the door so that Hermione could get some rest. She turned around just as her fingers touched the door handle.

"But you don't have to do it alone, Hermione. We're here for you."

The room seemed much sadder and lonelier after Angelina said good-night. Hermione got into the bed, pulling the threadbare sheet and comforter over her body and then stared up at the darkened ceiling. Sleep proved to be elusive.

She thought about her baby. She thought of Draco. Her hand slipped down across her abdomen as a thrill of hope filled her heart again. She imagined herself growing great with child and then pictured a tiny baby with Draco's white-blond hair and beautiful grey eyes. She wondered what she would call her son or daughter; she wondered if anyone would even understand if she admitted what had happened between herself and Draco Malfoy. Would they, just like the Ministry, find it impossible to let go of certain prejudices?

As she took a breath, trying to push that last, unwelcome thought from her mind, Hermione thought of Ginny and the children and her eyes filled with hot tears of joy and disbelief.

_I'm going to be a mother! This time, I'll make sure that nothing happens to the baby! This time they can't take it from me!_

With a smile, Hermione pictured Lily with her lilting laughter and reddish-brown curls. She thought of little James wearing an impish smile, his hair a mess just like his father's. And Albus with his sweet demeanor and eyes much to knowing for a small boy.

_I'm going to have a child!_

Something Ron hadn't been able to give her; she had never dreamed of having a family and now…

Hermione's last thought was a whispered prayer to God, asking Him to protect her child.

* * *

><p><em>Two months later<em>

_WERA hideout_

Blaise had postponed the inevitable. It had been weeks since the letter from Malfoy and nothing since. A part of him knew that he was hoping in something that may have long been dead; Draco's letter might have been his last big hurrah. Could it be that he was dead?

Yet something had kept Blaise rooted in place, staying on with the WERA when he should have been protecting Lavender and Daisy. His primary focus was his family; he had promise himself that his girls would be safe and he would put no one before his family, even those he called friends and allies. This was war; he would not be casualty and he wouldn't allow Lavender to suffer any more than she already had.

He stood like a tall, unmoving sentinel watching the road ahead of him for the next WERA delivery. These came often, mostly in large, covered trucks to be undetected by the Ministry or those who might work in London. Very few things were magicked these days to avoid detection by the enemy. Three days a week he had stood here watching, doing small tasks for the Alliance and avoiding the front lines of battle.

Blaise had decided that being dubbed as weak was not a bad thing if it meant his family was well. He would not risk himself any longer.

_Let others do such things; I have a family._

He would not think of others who had been in his position and had done more than what he was willing to do.

Blaise squinted in the too-bright sunlight as it reflected off of the newly fallen snow.

_So why I am I still here? _

It was a question he could not answer and one that perturbed him each morning. Be it a horrible thing or not, Blaise Zabini no longer cared much for the cause of the Alliance, having done what he needed to protect Lavender and make sure she reached safety. He had helped the WERA and the WERA had helped him.

_We are even._

He had planned on leaving for Asia shortly after the first major snowstorm had hit Wales and England. Then, there had been the letter from Malfoy and something in Blaise had stirred with aching and a strange loss.

_We had been friends._

If such a thing existed in Voldemort's world.

So he had stayed, postponing the exodus with his family and waiting for Malfoy. Blaise had convinced himself that a letter like that one had meant that surely, Draco was not going to abandon the woman he loved and that he would soon follow her from England.

Week after week he had waited for news, waited for a letter, waited for the small, gold coin that Malfoy had magicked with the Protean Charm to glow.

But none of that had happened. Malfoy had not arrived.

_He is dead._

Strangely enough, Blaise felt a dark, empty hole where emotion should have been. Was there guilty? Surely, for Blaise felt he ought to have felt a loss. Certainly there was confusion.

_He was my friend. If anyone should feel a loss, it should be me. _

But there was only that dark, strange hole. And Blaise didn't understand it. In the distance, a group was walking towards him down the lane. There was a flash of red-gold in the bright sunlight.

_Weasley._

The thought was none to welcome for Blaise had begun to find the chit rather unbearable with her incessant questions about Hermione Granger.

_At least this time, I have news for her._

She was the only other person who knew of the relationship between Granger and Malfoy. Did she believe he was dead? Would she be able to tell Granger if it were true? How would she react when she found out Granger was knocked up? What if the baby wasn't even Malfoy's? There were too many questions and Blaise had no real desire to ponder any of them. He only wanted to take his family and Apparate to a place where the Ministry or WERA would ever find them.

_Bloody impossible._

He stared down at his hands thoughtfully. Another, disturbing thought assaulted him. What if Malfoy _wasn't_ dead? What if he had turned cowardly and fallen back in with the Ministry, begging for their favor once more? For how many were strong enough to resist such a force? Yes, the resistance would always be there and Blaise knew undoubtedly that the Ministry would one day fall, but in the meantime…

It sickened him to think that anyone who had gotten away from such shackles would willingly return. Cowardice angered him. Especially if Malfoy knew Granger was with child had had _still_ left her.

Disgust churned in the pit of his belly so violently that Blaise nearly retched. He swallowed back his bile and it left a filthy, oily taste in his mouth.

_If he was ever to make such a choice I would first see him dead._

Rage flowed through Blaise, making his heart race and his blood boil. _There_ was the emotion he did not feel at the loss of a friend. _There _was feeling he should have had at the notion that Draco might never come back.

_Let him be dead._

* * *

><p>Ginny's hair gleamed like a fiery waterfall as she waked ahead of Seamus down the gravel and snow covered lane that led from the WERA hideout. The old house loomed large and foreboding behind them shielded by only the strongest charms and protective spells. Ahead of them and down the gravel road was Blaise, who often times served as a lookout to gather supplies and take messages. Most of the WERA operated under the radar of magic in hopes of being undetected until they were ready to strike. The more time, the better.<p>

Blaise was a tall, sinewy, black shadow against pristine white snow. Like the stain of sin on an innocent child's soul. Ginny was only half aware of her feelings towards the former Slytherin. He had been, after all, just like the other Death Eaters. The Mark would always taint him. She would never truly trust him.

But there was something…more about Blaise Zabini. Something dodgy and uncertain that made Ginny trust him less than anyone else. But she wasn't able to really explain _why. _Perhaps it was his half-heartedness when it came to the cause of the Alliance. Or maybe it was the self-entitlement that lay always beneath the surface of his helpful demeanor. She even questioned his influence on Lavender; the more time she spent with him the more aloof she had become. It was impossible for anyone to talk to her any longer.

Then there were Blaise's eyes. More often than not Ginny found she could not catch and hold his shifty gaze; when she did, she realized she didn't want to know what lay beyond the depths of his eyes. But like him or not, he was a source of information; he had served invaluable when it had come to infiltrating the lines of the Ministry.

_He helped save Hermione. Even if she's not with us now._

Ginny stopped at the bottom of the hill, abruptly. The three children stopped behind her, their chatter suddenly muted and behind them, she knew Seamus had stopped as well.

For a moment Seamus was mesmerized by that fiery cascade of hair down Ginny's back as he was often times with the small things about her. He admired the way her long tresses seemed to change under the influence of sunlight, one moment a brilliant red-gold and the next a burnished blond. Hers was hair that would be impossible to capture, even by a most gifted artist.

Some days, Seamus wanted to laugh at his musings.

_Wise up ya gack ye, _he chastised himself mentally, glad that the cold air hid his blush. _As if she'd ever look at you the way she did at Harry! _

Still, Seamus had a hard time not feeling something for Ginny. She was endlessly patient with her children even in their worst moods. She was determined and brave, fighting on the front lines and unwavering in her loyalty to the Alliance. And her laugh was as clear as church bells on a Sunday morning. She had been Harry's girl for so long. Could she see anyone else as a second chance?

The idea that he might confess to her his growing feelings terrified him, however.

"All right, Gin?"

His teeth chattered as he called out her name. She didn't turn only watching the clearing where Blaise stood thoughtfully.

"Can we hurry? It's fierce cold, it is and I'm about to freeze me balls off."

The boys giggled.

"Dry you arse, Seamus. We're almost there. I just-"

Her affectionate words died on the cold air and Seamus slid down the rest of the hill to stand by her side.

"I'm gummin' for some of McGonagall's hot chocolate, I am. It's the master."

Seamus offered Ginny a grin that he hoped would ease the tension he felt. She rolled her eyes but he could see the hint of an amused smile playing on her full lips. He felt a sudden flood of warmth to spite the bitter cold.

She turned her head so that her brown eyes met his.

"Why do they trust him? I can't quite…sometimes I think he's completely after himself," she whispered shaking her head.

"Sure, he's as Slytherin as they get," Seamus replied with a shrug. "But if ya want, I'll give him a good kick in the arse."

Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Thanks, Seamus. I'm sure that'll be a great help."

Seamus only grinned wider and then looked through the clearing down to where Blaise was standing.

"Sometimes I think he's a bit off his nut," he agreed. "But I think the Alliance trusts him because he helped us with the alienage break-outs."

Ginny remained unsympathetic and sniffed.

"Lavender's his priority. I'd bet all my galleons that he'd turn on us if it served him."

Seamus' good mood dissipated and he hunched into his long winter cloak.

"Sure, we shouldn't forget the good he's done."

Ginny looked slighted.

"I say-"

"I say we hurry. It's cold enough out here to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!"

The boys laughed at this and Seamus nudged Ginny into a quick walk the rest of the way to where Blaise stood.

The mistrust was evident between them. That or it was Ginny who mistrusted and Blaise who was irritated. Seamus was the one to break the cold silence.

"Have you news?"

Ginny searched Zabini's face as Seamus asked the question. Something indefinable sparked in the depths of those dark eyes.

"Aye," said he.

Ginny's heart stopped just as it always did when there was some hope in knowing where Hermione was, what she was doing and _how_ she was doing.

Zabini took a deep breath.

"It's best you know, I wager. She's up the doss and staying with Charlie and Angelina in St David."

Ginny gasped and Seamus looked speechless for once.

"Jayzuz, really!"

"Hermione's p-pregnant?" whispered Ginny.

She had paled so that her freckles seemed to stand out brightly against her pale skin. Without thinking, she gripped Seamus' hand. He closed his fingers around hers.

"We-we have to go to her!"

Ginny's voice was a whisper but there was no mistaking the determination in her brown eyes. Blaise's news did nothing but stoke the fire within Ginny; she had more questions now than she had a moment before. And she would not rest until Hermione answered them all.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Remember guys, baby names! Leave your suggestions! _


	53. Chapter 53

_Thanks so much for all your baby name suggestions, guys! I picked one so you'll have to wait and see which one it is! It's one that was on my list but I saw it in several people's reviews so it must be THE ONE! I've been sick; I couldn't breathe for days and that's not conducive to writing. But now I'm back! And in this new segment, Ginny deals with her tempestuous feelings and reunites with Hermione._

_Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p>Roxanne Molly Johnson-Weasley was born just as the snow had begun to melt from the dead trees along the coast of Wales. Hermione was in her third month and growing stronger each day as the child within her blossomed robustly.<p>

Roxanne was a hefty little thing with a lusty cry and as Neville helped Charlie clean her she wailed her distress over being plucked from her mother's warm womb and brought into a cold, drafty world. Hermione, hand clutching a slight baby bump under a thick, green jumper was amazed at the miracle that had unfolded before her. No magic, none at all, could equal the birth of a child.

Neville wrapped her in a thick, white blanket and then Hermione was the first to hold her for Angelina was weak from childbirth and blood loss. As Neville hovered over Angelina, Hermione gingerly held the screaming infant as Charlie quickly joined her at the window where the sun beat down gloriously on them.

"She's so….perfect," breathed Hermione.

As she looked up at Charlie she could see for the first time in months the pure joy that radiated from his face.

"She sure is," he agreed gazing down at the baby in Hermione's arms.

Roxanne had stopped wailing and was making small chuffing noises as she stirred a bit under the cocoon of her blanket and then settled down with a huge yawn. Hermione giggled at the baby's lurching, uncertain movements and it caused Roxanne to open her tiny eyes. Charlie beamed.

"Well, how about that! I reckon she has Weasley eyes!"

It was true. The baby had eyes the color of caramel much different than that of the dark, exotic color of her mother's. Her eyes were strikingly lighter than the black, downy hair that covered her tiny head.

"She does," Hermione said with a grin.

Charlie reached down and offered Roxanne his finger which she gripped tenaciously.

"Good thing, too, because I imagine she's not going to be a ginger," he joked stroking the top of Roxanne's head with affection.

The display before her warmed Hermione's heart. For a moment they both stared down in awe at the tiny little girl and then Angelina interrupted the silence.

"Give me my baby," she said with a weak laugh. "If she's inherited the Weasley appetite they'll be no satiating that hunger."

Hermione laughed as she handed the baby to her mother and a rush of love filled her, leaving a warm glow. She noticed that Charlie turned away when Angelina began to nurse, and a blush had colored his cheeks making the freckles there disappear. She smiled to herself and as Roxanne was quieted by the comfort of her mother, Hermione moved to help Neville in the kitchen.

"You think everything's all right?"

Neville smiled his round, shiny face broadening.

"I'm sure," he replied with a wink. "They don't call me the best Healer in Wales for nothing."

He was joking, it was clear, for Neville was not one to boast. Hermione grinned at him and then sighed wistfully.

"I can't believe that'll be me in just a few months."

She couldn't help the pang of longing that filled her at the thought that Draco wouldn't be at her side. When she looked up into Neville's face she found kindness in the depths of his eyes.

"You'll be just fine, you'll see."

Hermione swallowed.

"I never imagined myself-"

She wrung her hands looking away for a moment.

"That is to say, Ron and I had…well we had talked about it when Ginny and Harry had James but I-"

Neville waited hoping that she'd speak further, elaborate on what was weighing on her heart. He reached across the small counter between them, taking her hand into his.

"You'll be a brilliant mother, Hermione. I know it. I've seen your face when you've talked about Ginny's children. She's told me so much…"

There was alarm in Hermione's soft brown eyes then, a spark of something uncertain and pallor to her face. She pulled away from Neville's comforting touch.

"She couldn't have told you how much I love those children. No one can put such emotion into words."

Her hand, as it did so frequently, snaked down to rest on the slight bump of her belly. Neville smiled at the love that was so evident on Hermione's face.

"See?" he said. "You already know what it feels like to love someone like that."

He finished putting away his things and set the large rucksack onto the floor.

"All you have to remember is that…it's _your_ child. It doesn't matter what's happened before, Hermione. All that matters now is the future."

She stared at him suddenly reminded of how little those around her knew.

_It's not just my child!_

Even those whom Hermione believed she trusted knew nothing of her relationship with Draco Malfoy and why the child she was carrying now was so important to her. It wasn't just a child. It was _Draco's _child, the one part of him which she could keep no matter what happened. That's why she couldn't let anything happen to her baby; she needed a part of Draco with her always if that was all she would ever have.

Tears burned behind her closed eyes and with a shuddered intake of breath, Hermione turned away from Neville. Would he understand? Would any of them understand? Could she tell them? The questions were burned on her mind but she would have no easy answers, she knew.

_Would you understand, Neville? Charlie, would you turn your nose up at me if you knew I fell in love with the enemy, and sired his child? _

Suddenly, Hermione felt trapped; her secret was a wearisome burden.

In the other room Roxanne let out a wail and Charlie was laughing. Angelina beamed up at him and Hermione gazed at the tiny family scene wondering if perhaps there was still good left in the world and if everyone who was deserving would get their second chance. George was dead but now he lived on in his daughter. And even though Angelina loved George, it was Charlie who was gazing down at her with both affection and protectiveness and Hermione wondered if he had found his new purpose in life.

She gazed down at herself.

_It's going to be the same for us, Baby. I'll never let you forget how much your father loved you even if he didn't know you existed. I won't let you forget him or the good he did for us. I won't let anyone let you learn prejudice, no matter what. Hate and prejudice destroys life and happiness. No one deserves that. _

When Hermione began to feel a bit smothered by Neville's intense gaze she slipped from the small kitchen to join the new family.

* * *

><p>Long after Neville had Apparated from the cottage and Charlie had fallen asleep, Angelina and Hermione sat in the living room, the only light given off by the crackling of the fire. Roxanne lay asleep in her mother's arms. She was a good baby, Hermione had decided, fussing only when she needed to be changed or fed. The silence between the two women was a warm, comfortable one. Perhaps it was even one of kinship for each of them would be experiencing motherhood at nearly the same time.<p>

"How does it feel?"

Angelina smiled at Hermione's question, adjusting Roxanne's blanket with a tender touch. The baby made a soft, sighing noise and shifted towards her mother's warmth before settling down once again.

"I can't even begin to describe," she replied in a whisper without taking her eyes from the baby's bundled form.

"It's the perfect gift, you know," Hermione said then thoughtfully. "She's a part of George."

Her sincere comment caused Angelina to look up and study Hermione's face in the flickering firelight. There was a glow about her – something indefinable but real – that made Angelina wonder what she was really thinking.

And Hermione wondered how it would feel to finally hold and look into the face of Draco's son or daughter and to know what he had done to ensure her safety and the safety of a baby he had known nothing about. It was enough to make her want to weep, but she knew she could not.

"I can't wait for everyone to meet her. I never thought I'd be in this place, Hermione. I never thought I could find joy in such misery."

But Hermione knew; she understood. She wondered. And she was afraid. Because everyone would want to meet Roxanne and sooner or later Hermione would have to face her friends and family. The family she had left behind the night of the alienage fire. And she would have to answer questions that had no justifiable answers.

_I'm just not ready._

* * *

><p>The train raced along the glorious Welsh countryside heading towards the closest station to the coast. It rocked back and forth like a massive cradle with an engine, lulling all those aboard to a placid existence. All but Ginny, who sat with her back straight and away from the rather comfortable seat. Every once in a while Seamus would note that she twirled a tendril of her vivid hair around one china-hued finger and bit her lush, lower lip in contemplation.<p>

They traveled by train the long distance that could have been quickly traveled by Floo or Apparition only because there was still the underlying fear that the Ministry could intervene. The forces of the resistance were growing stronger by the day and it seemed a waste to have a setback by something as trivial as travel. And so they traveled the Muggle way.

Seamus had assumed that Ginny would eventually relax but she had not; her eyes were as watchful and mistrustful as always and her pale face had not lost the sharp lines of alertness.

"G'wan Ginny, give yourself a bloody heart attack why don't ya?"

"Bugger off, Seamus."

Her language was callous and her tone rather cross. It was as if she had forgotten her three, well-behaved children were still in the compartment, though they had all dozed off into fitful naps. He shrugged, swallowing back his annoyance at her behavior but he couldn't quite hide the wounded tone of his voice.

"Watching out for ya, so I am."

Ginny tensed and Seamus could almost hear her nasty response but just as quickly she fell limply back against her seat, the expression of alertness having been replaced by hurt.

"Sorry then," she muttered.

A part of her was irritated by Seamus' attentiveness as of late; she couldn't remember a time before Harry's passing that anyone had cared that much. She had a hard time trusting in him, anyway. But the part of her tucked away behind all the resentment, anxiousness and irritation appreciated his efforts and knew that she had gotten lucky to find Seamus and the WERA when she had fallen upon such hard times. Seamus was genuinely kind to her and even more than that, good with her children.

Ginny supposed in a world where she had a difficult time trusting anyone, Seamus was as close an exception to the rule as possible. She studied him curiously, the way his sandy-brown hair fell across cornflower blue eyes in a handsome, weathered face smattered liberally with freckles. Their eyes locked and Ginny could not find the right thing to say and finally tore her gaze from him, opting instead for the view outside of the train window.

The train lurched a bit as it went around a gentle turn and then continued on its journey towards the coast. The smooth sound of wheels on track soothed her but it wasn't enough to lull her into a sense of ease as it had done to the children. Ginny couldn't stop thinking about what waited at the end of her journey – her new niece and a pregnant Hermione.

For a while she avoided Seamus' eyes but finally she knew she had to look at him.

"It's just bloody hard," she ground out, the words harsh. "George…he's just…gone, like the rest of my family, and now…Angelina's got this baby and…Hermione's _pregnant _and I…"

Ginny prided herself on strength. She had seen too much weakness in those around her and she had always grown sick and cold at the sight of women falling from grace because of their weaknesses. Lavender Brown had been one such woman.

_Is Hermione another?_

She hated that she had even _entertained_ such a thought but there it was. Blinking rapidly, Ginny was faced with a sudden desire to cry but she won the fight, her eyes hot but dry. She waited for the waves of guilt and frustration to wash over and then fade. They always did; she was used to it. Used to feeling angry and guilty, resentful and remorseful.

Ginny shut her eyes tightly and when she opened them again Seamus was watching her with silent sympathy. Clearing her throat, she continued.

"I don't know who to be angry with; I don't know who to hate. Myself? My own weaknesses? My frustration with Hermione for what she did? All those who slowly destroyed my family, taking them from me piece by painful piece?"

Her white fingers were laced together tightly and as she spoke they gripped her skirts with increasing tenacity.

"I don't bloody _want_ to be angry with her!"

Her eyes held shades of self-loathing and anger. Seamus sighed.

"I can tell, to be sure."

"It's just that…I'm her family! Not that slimy little git! He saves her life once and that means she's somehow linked to him now? I told her to be careful! I told her what he is and what that Mark on his arm means! He's not one of us; he's no good!"

Still fighting the wall of tears that threatened, Ginny managed to choke up the next words.

"She loves Lily! She did what she had to! I understand that, but she should have come with us the first chance she got! You came for us; why didn't she leave?"

Her eyes widened with disbelief.

"And to say she loves him? How is that even possible? She loved Ron! She would never love _Malfoy!"_

Seamus didn't respond right away and for a few moments the only sound was the clatter of the train against metal track. When he spoke, his words barely rose above the din of the train.

"Does love die, Ginny? Ron is dead and a shame it is. Can you blame her for not dyin' along with him?"

Ginny wouldn't look at Seamus though she felt the heat of his gaze lingering on her like the warmth of the sun after it hid behind a cloud. There was no mistaking the intensity with which he spoke.

"There's not much love to be had in this world so why would you not take a chance on someone if you could? Jayzus, had I thought with me whole loaf I imagine I would have tried harder in the past."

Ginny swallowed painfully.

"To love?"

She still refused to gaze on him and Seamus was torn between hopefulness and a strange frustration. When he didn't reply, Ginny continued.

"You could have had anyone. It was your choice."

He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment on the brink of an admission, but something held him back.

"It was. Sure, we all make certain choices."

Ginny said nothing more, instead gazing out of the window without much emotion, a sad feeling on her heart.

* * *

><p>Roxanne was beautiful. So was that first moment that she gazed on Charlie's gloriously happy, freckled face.<p>

Ginny watched with affection as James, Albus and Lily met the youngest Weasley addition for the first time and seeing Charlie again was the balm she had needed after months of distress. Her older brother's smile served to wipe away the heaviness that had lain on her heart the whole time she had been on the train. As Ginny hugged Charlie a flood of emotions washed over her and she was able to clearly recall years in the past when only her brother had been able to make her feel better. Scraped knees, failed duels in the back garden, Christmases that hadn't felt complete when Charlie had been off with the dragons in Romania…

One thing she was sure of was that nothing had been right without Charlie at the Burrow. Now knowing that they were the only two Weasleys left, well…

Ginny's eyes burned painfully and she closed them, burying her face against Charlie's rough cotton shirt. She clung to her brother tightly, not wanting to let go, allowing herself to believe that he could make everything better, just like he had always done when she had been small.

_It's not like that anymore._

"Awe, come on, Gin," Charlie murmured. "No more tears. All the Weasleys are back together again!"

His words were just barely touched with laughter and Ginny couldn't find the humor in the situation.

_Balls! _She wanted to scream. _All bloody **two** of us and you make a huge, sodding deal about it? Are you fucking mental? Did breathing in all those dragon farts cause you to lose your mind? Don't you remember Christmases with Mum and Dad, Percy, the twins, Bill, Ron and thousands of aunts and uncles? Don't you remember how it would be impossible to count all of us? Why was that taken from us – why?_

Ginny felt torn in a terrible place – between trying to accept the horrible reality of the loss of her family or giving into to the little girl who wanted the wail, scream and beat her fists in anger and refusal to accept her lot in life. The emotions that raged within her caused Ginny to go limp in weakness, leaning her full weight against Charlie. That was when she chose to look up into his face hoping for answers. Charlie's brown eyes were filled with joy and hope and Ginny took in a shaking, watery breath as she watched him, first with fascination and then…realization.

He was _happy._

_I remember what it was like to be happy!_

Roxanne was crying and for a moment Ginny listened to the bell-like laughter of her daughter and the way the boys doted on their new niece. Charlie pulled her along so that she was standing with her children and next to Angelina.

"You'll love her, you'll see. She's family now. We've lost so many of us but it's not over yet."

He put one arm around her shoulder, pulling Ginny close and kissing the top of her head just as he had done when she was a kid. She blinked and watched as Charlie leaned down beaming at Roxanne and Ginny had never seen such a…light shining on his face or a smile so warm.

She knew Roxanne wasn't biologically Charlie's but there was no doubt who her father would be.

_Can I deny him such happiness? Can I fight this and resent all that's happened when he's suffering the same loss and has chosen to move on, to try and be happy?_

Ginny offered Angelina a wavering smile, realizing she had little choice. She would have to swallow her bitterness and try to be happy too.

"You'll love being a mother," she managed, placing a hand on Lily's shoulder for a moment and finding another to run her hand through James' and then Albus' hair. Angelina's smile was tired but lit up the dark depths of her expressive eyes.

"I know it."

The declaration held no doubts; it was as certain as the sun in the sky. Ginny's attention was shifted then to the baby in Angelina's arms, the tiny feet kicking with strength and light brown eyes shining with wonder. She had caramel and cream skin with tufts of dark hair and, oh, she was such a tiny thing of perfection!

There was laughing and talking all around her and Neville's soft baritone as he insisted Angelina consume a potion or two to help with rejuvenation. There was Charlie's deep laughter that seemed to raise everyone's mood and Seamus' jokes that made Lily's giggling grow louder. Somehow, Seamus' laughter melting with her daughter's giggles warmed Ginny's heart.

She didn't hear the back door creak open and only glanced up just as Hermione walked across the threshold, two buckets of water in hand.

The two women stared at one another unmoving, emotions rolling across their faces much like the reels of an old film. Ginny felt it difficult to breathe.

_I never imagined seeing Hermione again would be so difficult._

The voices and laughter around her melted together into one warm rush of noise and Ginny stepped around the group just as Neville moved to help Hermione with the water buckets. Ginny's eyes flickered from Neville and then back to Hermione, her thoughts mild and disjointed.

_Always a gentleman, that Neville._

Hermione was different; she was…_healthy._

Ginny's heart hammered with joy for her friend, seeing her well and thriving. The hungry, pained lines on her face were gone and she looked vibrant and filled-out. Her hair hung down her back in long, shining curls and her eyes were bright and sparkling. There was a flush to her skin, like she was glowing. Everything about her, the way she moved, the hesitant smile, the look in her eyes…it breathed of life….of health. And of hope. But the thing that evidenced the new life within Hermione was the slight bump around her middle. At the sight of Hermione's growing belly, Ginny's eyes filled quickly with tears.

"Hermione."

The word was breathless, as if Ginny had seen a ghost. Hermione took a step forward and then another, uncertain of what to say, or how to speak what was on her heart.

"Gin, I-"

"You're alive."

"I'm…I'm better than alive, I'm-"

As she spoke, there was that smile again and her long, pale fingers snaked across her belly with obvious pride and joy. Ginny swallowed back a biting remark, hating herself for wanting to scream.

It was Malfoy's; she didn't have a doubt in her mind. Hermione hadn't been raped. The bastards at the alienage hadn't been able to defile her that way. But she had _offered _herself to Malfoy. She had abandoned her family and those that loved her for _Malfoy. _She had stayed behind to be with _Malfoy._

Ginny swallowed but the heaviness remained in her throat.

"C-can…we talk, please?" she managed to say thickly.

Hermione didn't hesitate, moving to touch Ginny's hand with a nod.

"Of course."

It was soft, that hand. But even so, Ginny didn't want Hermione's comfort that moment. She wanted answers.

* * *

><p>The sun was bright on the hill that overlooked the distant sea. The weather was cold but there was no wind and the sun was melting the ice from the grove of trees that surrounded either side of the cottage.<p>

Neville had argued that Hermione and Ginny might catch hold but neither woman had listened, slipping out of the cottage, the red-head following the curly-haired brunette. There was an unspoken understanding between the two females that what needed discussed would be private between them but that it needed discussed _now_.

The path was clear; Charlie kept it up quite well and up on the hill the trees shielded from the possibility of wind and all was quiet save for their similar, crunching footsteps. The cottage fell away behind them and soon the women were surrounded by only trees. That was when Hermione stopped and then turned slowly. There were tears sparkling in her eyes.

Ginny blinked.

"You're crying."

Her pale face clouded over with a frown. Hermione wiped her tears away with a trembling hand.

"I know you won't understand."

"What?"

"I saw your expression when you looked up and saw me," continued Hermione in a harried whisper. "You're still upset with me."

The red-haired woman hesitated, at first shaking her head no with vehemence and then stopping to try and say something, to assuage her guilt, but she couldn't. And Hermione's tears increased.

It was still strange for Ginny to see Hermione look so different; she wasn't a waif any longer. Even the scars that had been carved into her flesh like lightning no longer seemed so prominent. She felt the joy mix with resentment inside of her she hated herself. It wasn't that she didn't want to be happy for Hermione! Merlin's beard, if anyone had deserved another chance it was her beautiful, wonderful friend and sister Hermione!

_Why does this bother me so?_

Hermione gazed at Ginny in silence that seemed to be whispering a pleading prayer.

"I-I don't want to be upset, Hermione."

Hermione moved to say something but Ginny stopped her, needing to say what was coming without interruption. Tears filled her brown eyes; it was difficult to speak.

"I just want to be honest with you, Hermione. For the longest time after my brother and Harry…when they weren't around, you were the most important thing to me – the most important person in my life. That night…that night you stayed behind I-I thought I'd never see you again. I was…devastated. And you stayed…you stayed and I didn't trust him! I _can't_ trust him, don't you see? He's the reason why all this happened; they all are!"

The agitation was mixed with freckles of fear. Ginny's look of plaintiveness was replaced by that of helplessness and Hermione moved her lips, willing something to come out.

Finally, it did.

"I can't help who I love, Ginny."

The tears that had been trembling while Ginny spoke fell from her eyes, staining her freckled cheeks.

"Why? Why did you leave me that night! Why did you fight so hard for Lily and my boys if you were just going to leave?"

She was sobbing, her hands clenched around the black traveling cloak she was wearing.

"Do you know how scared I've been? That you might die; that he might betray you! That I'd never see you again!"

Hermione reached out but Ginny yanked herself away from the possibility of being touched.

"H-He wouldn't have done that," said Hermione. "He…he loved me long before I knew how I felt! He healed those parts of me that others tore down!"

Ginny looked shocked, choking for a moment on her sobs.

"You say he loved you? You know that hands that heal can also bruise? You might not even know! You know how love makes us blind!"

Her jaw was set with stubbornness.

"The Hermione I know wouldn't blindly follow a wolf into his den! The Hermione I know wouldn't have left her family!"

Tears of pain and disappointed rolled thickly down Hermione's face and she wondered if she had felt the cruel sharpness of betrayal in this way before. Not the way it felt at the hands of Ginny, her best friend, her family. The one person she had trusted.

She could barely speak.

"I'm not blind," she whispered. "I know what I feel and I love what I know. His hands have bruised me, but so have yours! Look at what you're doing, Ginny! Listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?"

Ginny was enraged.

"If I've said anything it's to make you see the truth!"

"The truth is here!"

Hermione clasped her trembling hands around her growing belly. "This baby is the truth! This baby is what I have to live for now!"

Ginny glared.

"Malfoy's baby?"

Hermione was fighting against the harsh words on the tip of her tongue, wanting Ginny to understand while at the same time wanting her to hurt the way she was hurting right now. A part of her wanted to choke the life out of Ginny while another wanted to break down sobbing at the way she was speaking Draco's name. As if he were nothing; as if he were an abomination.

_As the Ministry speaks of Muggle-borns like me._

She stopped, gasping for a moment, thinking back to the shadowy night in the London hotel, the night she had given herself to Draco completely. The vivid memories were made up of the shadowed, messy bed, Draco's white-blond hair and stormy eyes and the way he had accused the other side – her side – of prejudice. She had scoffed at him; she had derided him and defended herself and those that loved her. But the truth was written in Ginny's angry eyes. Prejudice was not indigenous of only one side. It was a painful reality for Hermione to accept.

She watched, tears in her eyes, as Ginny turned and rushed off further into the sleep-laced, winter trees.

_I can't just let her go!_

Without thinking of what she would say and how she could explain her feelings, Hermione broke into a run after Ginny.

"Wait!" she called out breathlessly.

Ginny had stopped and was leaning against a huge tree, her face pressed against a large, roughened tree trunk.

"Don't," she warned, her voice laced with sobs.

Hermione stood by helplessly watching as her friend cried brokenly.

"A Death Eater, Hermione!"

"No, Gin, he's not. Not the way you think!"

"How else can I think? What am I supposed to think when all I've seen is the horror that they've created!"

"I know, but he's not like them!"

"How can he not be?"

"He saved my life! Can you condemn a man who would be so selfless?"

Ginny turned, the tears streaming down her face matched only by the ones on Hermione's face.

"Can you absolve a man on one good action?"

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a broken, heavy sigh.

"I have to," she whispered.

There was a long, heavy silence before she could open her eyes once more.

"Why did you love Harry?"

Ginny let out a rough, choked sob.

"You dare bring up Harry-" she began accusingly, her brown eyes narrowing with anger. Something on Hermione's face stopped her; it was a look of pure pleading, of hope.

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "Loving Harry was never a choice."

There was a spark of something in Hermione's deep brown eyes – a glow of perpetual light.

"So you understand!" she breathed. "I never had a choice, Ginny. Loving Draco wasn't something I ever thought could happen and I can't tell you _why_…only that I do."

She covered her hands over her belly.

"I don't want you to turn away from me. Not when I found you again! Not when I have a new chance at life!"

Ginny had paled, shaking her head over and over as if forcing herself to try and forget what the other woman was saying.

"A new chance at life? Where is he, then? If he loves you so?"

Hermione's face fell and her tears increased, as her hands came up to wipe them away as she tried not to fall apart.

"He gave me my freedom, don't you see?"

She was sobbing.

"Away from him, and broken away from the Ministry I have a chance. I wanted him to come with me but he wouldn't. He said I wouldn't be safe with him and…"

She broke down completely and Ginny watched in shock. Something in her own heart trembled on the edge of a precipice and then she fell to her knees on the snow laden ground to gather Hermione in her arms and hold her close. She didn't understand a lot of things but she did understand heartbreak. And how could she abandon someone whose heart was breaking?

For the longest time there was no sound in the wooded glen but the sound of Hermione's sobs and the soothing whispers that Ginny pressed against her ear.


	54. Chapter 54

_I apologize for the lengthy delay – but here I am again. Slowly the Alliance grows into a formidable adversary against the Ministry. Hermione tries to get her bearings and makes a huge decision. Warnings for mention of character death and…oh, the dream sequence is rated M for gratuitous sex. That's all! Enjoy. Oh, and thank you everyone! I always love your comments and reviews - no matter what. Keep them coming. :)  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>There was one last snowstorm before cruel winter relinquished its hold on the Welsh countryside. The storm was a fierce one as if Mother Nature knew that it would be the last of the season. The snow piled high along the sloped hills that led to the misty, gray seas. The banshee wind roared high outside the cabin, rattling the windows and whistling an angry, tormented song. There were moments when Hermione would gaze out of the window and it seemed to her that the world was tilted - the huge, swirling snowflakes whispering against the windowpane and blowing nearly sideways making her dizzy. The wild snow blinded but it was a trickster, using every illusion it could command. Winter was deception in a white, pristine cloak.<p>

Life in St Davids had fallen into a comfortable routine though Hermione had started to itch for more.

Neville, who had taken to spending some evenings with her playing round after round of wizard rummy and sharing with her what was going on at the Clinic. He was more attentive than Hermione thought he needed to be, but then again, it was Neville. Ginny had taken the children back to where she had come from, promising to return. But the coolness in her expression had broken Hermione's heart. Seamus had gone with her, taking his laughter with him. Charlie was busy with Alliance duties and was away from the cottage nearly as often as he was there, leaving Hermione, Angelina and little Roxanne to fend for themselves.

The days weren't bad. Hermione spent waking hours acquainting herself with the WERA and how she would eventually join them. She knew that the baby was of paramount importance but once he or she was born…

_I can't just shun my duty! _

That stubborn, determined part of her that had been buried deep inside was starting to struggle and cry out weakly. She wanted to help; she wanted to be useful. But most of all, she wanted to prove to those that had tried to destroy her that she was a force to be reckoned with. She had a child now, someone that needed her, but she would not turn her back on the greater cause.

Sometimes, when everyone else was asleep, Hermione would sneak out of her bed and pad across the room to the closet where she had hidden a small lockbox. There lay several objects – the necklace she had worn to the Lestrange's wedding party, her thin, gold wedding band and, at the bottom, her wand. She would run her fingers along the thin, smooth surface, and indulge in the feeling of…electricity that seemed to run through her.

_My wand._

Her wand; it was no one else's and one day, she'd be able to use it. She'd lift her hand against those who had so easily hurt her in the past. That little, black wooden object would be the vessel by which she would get her justice, whatever it might be. But Hermione knew, big or small, she would do what she had to for freedom. Not just for herself but for the other Muggle-borns. Those moments in the middle of endless, wintry nights were what got her through the days. The belief that one day she'd be strong enough to stand against the opposition. She would face the Ministry and _win. _In those same moments she would feel a flooding of guilt and fear because she knew to face the Ministry she would be facing against the man she loved.

_But, no, he's not with them anymore. He's not on their side; he's on mine. He has to be, I know it._

When she wasn't getting her bearings within the WERA, Hermione spent her hours keeping house. Luckily, it wasn't a strange thing for her because of what she had been made to do at the Malfoy Estate in Kensington. Angelina feigned strength she did not have, and Neville had told Hermione in very few words that Roxanne's delivery had taken much out of Angelina and it would be months before she was strong and healthy again. The black woman did what she could but it was Hermione, now in her fourth month, who bore the weight of the housework.

She spent hours preparing meals for herself, Charlie and Angelina. She washed clothes and scrubbed, floors, walls and ceilings. She did dishes and hung linens. Days were busy ones. When the weather was fine Hermione didn't have time to think about her future; she didn't have time to think about her past. She simply _was._

The nights, however, were the hardest.

When Hermione crawled under her down comforter, exhausted from her day's work, she found her mind wandering. And she missed _him_. The weight of her sorrow was her own to bear for Hermione could not share with anyone the truth of her condition and of how she had gotten where she was. There had been the possibility that her closest friends and those she was living with might understand, but after Ginny's reaction, Hermione feared that she wouldn't be able to share the truth with _anyone_. Their prejudice was too _real._ It hurt too much.

Some nights, especially the cold, bitter ones, as Hermione lay under the comforter warming her feet and hands, she would indulge in recollections of his warm body next to hers. Always on the right side of the bed, she mused. Always warm, much too warm. She would breathe deeply and the scent of cigarettes and mint would mingle with the faint scent of cedar and the soap she used to wash the bed sheets. She would see his beautiful, gray eyes in her mind's eye and the still vivid memory of his smile. The need to touch him, to run her fingers through silky, white-blond hair was often overwhelming and it made Hermione whimper.

_How did I so quickly get used to having him next to me?_

The thought left her both amazed and shamed.

_I used to be just fine on my own! I can't possibly need him to survive, do I?_

Tears would burn her eyes and she would fall asleep alone in her misery, fighting the urge to think of him and yet unable not to. The dreams on those nights would leave her wanting more…

_They'd been together that morning; they were together every morning now, from the moment Astoria left the house to do whatever it was she did, until the moment he would drop her off at the edges of the alienage…_

_His presence, the thought of him, left Hermione distracted, almost unable to do the job for which he had hired her. _

"_Please, don't look at me like that," she managed as the duster flew across the multitude of books that lined the walls of the rather large library._

"_How can you possibly know how I'm looking at you, Granger?" _

_His voice was velvet. Perhaps it was satin. Sweet Lord, Hermione realized. His voice was every indulgent thing she would ever imagine._

_The duster stopped as she felt a shiver run up and down her spine._

"_Because I know how you look at me!" _

_Her voice had grown husky, thick with the desire she felt for him since the first time they had been together. He was the only man – now and before – that had made her feel desired. Like a woman and not just-_

"_Pray tell, how do I look at you?" _

_There was laughter in his rich voice._

"_It's not like I can see it myself, now can I?"_

_He was teasing her now, and reluctantly, Hermione found herself resuming the task at hand. That was until she felt the warm heat of his mouth on her ankle. Then the back of her calf. Her thigh._

_Gods, she nearly went weak in the knees, the shiver of pleasure rushing through her and tightening the most secret parts of her body._

"_Like that."_

_Her voice was breathy, uneven. He laughed and she couldn't recall a sexier sound. _

"_You're not helping, Granger."_

_His lips found purchase on the back of her thigh, making their languorous way north, up under the hem of her skirt. Hermione moaned._

"_You're not helping either," she managed, her eyes closing her breaths coming faster. Somewhere in the back of her suddenly fevered mind there was the idea that she should have been doing housework. "I'm supposed to be dusting."_

"_The housework will be here tomorrow, yes?" _

_His hands, the warm, calloused palms against the softness of her bare thighs created a terrifying magic that left her dizzy with need. _

"_Y-yes."_

"_Me now, housework later?" _

_His mouth was upon hers, seeking, licking, nipping, diving. The idea that anything besides the way he made her feel existed seemed preposterous._

"_Draco, I can't-"_

_Her protestations were silenced when his hand reached down and under her skirt, cupping the warmth between her legs in a move that was both possessive and sensual. His eyes were a deep, molten silver as his mouth, tongue seeking the soft lines of her neck and collarbone. She was already wet._

"_Seems to me like you can."_

_His fingers moved against the silken, slick folds of her most intimate places. _

"_You know everything you do makes me crazy," she managed to mutter, her lips crashing against him with the force of her desire._

"_So why must you argue?"_

_The look in his eyes was one of victory and Hermione realized she didn't even want to argue with him. What she wanted only he could give her. Their passion burned all else away until she thought she would die from her desire for him. _

"_Now?" she managed, clawing with desperation at the neatly pressed and freshly starched shirt he was wearing. _

_She successfully undid several buttons with trembling fingers to reveal her true desire – the lines of his perfect, lean chest. Without thinking, Hermione's mouth was against his flesh, tasting with wanton abandon, breathing in the warmth, the scent that was singularly Draco – a hint of smoke, a dash of mint and the musky scent of his aftershave. _

"_I need you."_

_The choked utterance made him come undone. _

"_The chair," he said huskily. _

_They stumbled, backed against it as Hermione reached for his slacks, undoing the buckle and pushing them down with frenzy._

"_Now. Now, Draco, now."_

_She clumsily pushed up her skirt and pushed down her knickers and lowered her desperate body onto his hard, waiting shaft and sank down on him completely with a guttural cry. Nothing was as exquisite, nothing even close to the mind-blowing reality of being so roughly joined with him, penetrated so wholly by that thick, hot part of him._

_Hermione groaned, pressing her open mouth against his neck, rocking her body against his cock, moving slowly at first and then faster, faster toward that very necessary precipice of pleasure…_

She would awaken after such dreams, sweating and wet for him, the tears she had cried before sleep dry upon her cheeks and her body clenched in orgasm. Such dreams were shameful but just as difficult to stop. Hermione knew that at some point she would have to let go of him, to move on, to stop thinking and tormenting herself in such a way. But how?

Too many nights would lighten into mornings and she would still be thinking of him, and she could not stop.

* * *

><p>The snow tapered off after two days of relentless assault and the first morning following the storm, Hermione awakened to the sound of Charlie working on the clearing outside. Slipping on a heavy, winter cloak, she left the chilliness of the bedroom and started a fire in the kitchen hearth before opening the wooden door to the front porch. The sun was shining brilliantly in a sky that was a shade of exquisite blue. Charlie stopped working when she stepped outside.<p>

"Wotcher, Hermione…go back inside, you'll catch your death of a cold."

His hat had come off halfway and Charlie's red-gold hair gleamed against the morning sunlight, his cheeks flushed with exertion and cold.

"Good morning," she replied. "I can't sleep. Started a fire to warm up the place and I'll make you something to eat. Angelina and the baby are still sleeping."

"Aye, let them sleep. God knows she needs her rest."

A flicker of concern tainted his earlier smile.

"She'll be fine," Hermione assured him quickly. "She just needs rest. You heard Neville; the baby took a lot out of her."

Charlie nodded.

"Get inside, you."

She paused, pulling the cloak more tightly against her body to ward of the winter morning chill.

"I'm fine," she said.

Charlie studied Hermione thoughtfully without saying anything. She stood rather small in the huge cloak, lustrous coffee-cinnamon curls lying in haphazard array around her shoulders, still mussed from sleep. She was thin – too thin – he thought but at least there was life in her now. It hadn't been there when he had picked her up from the train station. _That_ Hermione Granger had been all but dead – both physically and emotionally, he feared.

Ron had called her brilliant, stubborn, tenacious, bossy, but big-hearted. Neville spoke of her self-sufficiency in a crisis and her unholy ability to reason and use logic. Both had spoken of a woman who gave first without taking, someone who cared for others before herself.

_Neither_ had spoken of the dull girl that he had first seen months before. He could only hope that her stay at St. David had at least begun the healing process for her.

Hermione gave him an affectionate eye-roll but she retreated back into the cottage dutifully, leaving Charlie alone with the snow and sun. He stared out at the empty hills and glimpsed the sea down in the distance, a frown marring his rugged, freckled face. It was still early morning but he felt a sense of weariness that would not let him be. The news from town that early morning had been tinged with anxiousness – Death Eaters had invaded Wales to the east. The attack had not been at random and, unfortunately, the Alliance had not been expecting it. Though the Alliance had taken a hit and the casualties were more than just one or two, the news trickling in via Floo was positive.

The Death Eaters had taken a much greater loss and they had not been able to accomplish what they had set out to do – invade Wales.

Charlie had never deeply entrenched himself in war and politics but he knew what the Ministry wanted and that was full control of as much of Britain as possible. Ireland, too.

_God help us._

The Ministry's losses had been great; Charlie had heard about a multitude of casualties, the need to retreated and regroup. He knew they would eventually strike once again but at least there was the hope that as the Alliance grew in strength and numbers the Ministry would eventually be unable to invade further.

Still, the positive news wasn't enough to shake the heaviness on Charlie's heart. He knew it what such battles meant – too many wounded, too many sick and hungry, too many innocents dead. Neville would be knee deep in patients. There would be more refugees, those who had undoubtedly already lost their homes and livelihoods. Hermione had been their only house guest for months but he predicted that soon it would no longer be the case.

Charlie wondered if Angelina's strength had been replenished enough to face the coming weeks. Hermione, although nearly halfway through her own pregnancy, seemed more than willing to help. In fact, her determination seemed relentless, as if sometimes driven by a madness no one could understand. He feared she was becoming restless for something more to do.

When Charlie finished clearing the paths around the cabin he finally reentered the now warm cabin. Hermione sat alone, sipping tea from a large mug and looking wistfully towards the windows. The sunlight painted honey highlights throughout her messy curls.

"Angelina still sleeping?"

He moved to grab himself some of the tea in the kettle. There was a steaming pot of porridge bubbling next to it.

"She is."

Though spending time with Hermione was never an awkward thing, Charlie also knew that she was mum about anything in her past, choosing either to speak in generalities or not speak at all. So it was that morning. He decided that telling Hermione about the news from the east was the best thing – she was strong enough to handle it.

"Hermione, there's been fighting to the east."

He noticed the sudden pallor that washed over her as she stared at him, mid-sip.

"W-What?"

Yes, she was terrified. Charlie understood the terror – Hermione had first hand seen what the Ministry was capable of.

"Fighting. The Ministry attacked the Alliance."

Her brown eyes seemed nearly black against the whiteness of her face.

"Is…what…happens now? Are they c-coming? Will I have to-?"

Charlie saw Hermione's hand snaking across her growing belly. Her fingers were trembling. He reached over, his large, heavy hand covering hers for a moment.

"No," he said firmly. "We held them back!"

Her body went stiff, eyes widening and jaw setting in shock.

"W-what?"

"The Alliance held the lines, Hermione! The Death Eaters weren't able to break through…many have fallen. Ours too, I'm sad to say, but this is the first time that we can honestly say that the Ministry faces formidable opposition!"

The words came tumbling out of Charlie in his growing excitement and Hermione felt the life draining from her, leaving behind a shell of nothingness. A terrible thought struck her and she worked feverishly to push it away.

_No. He's not with them. He's not one of them. He's safe. He's safe. He's safe. He's-_

It did not stop her heart from hammering or her fingers from going icy.

"The Death Eaters…"

It was all she could speak.

_No, he wouldn't have gone back to them…would he? _

It seemed impossible to believe such a thing but he had gone back to London! He had gone back to face his punishment at the hand of the Ministry and what if they had forced him back-

No. There was no reason to believe he had been fighting, no reason to panic that he might be dead.

Draco.

_He's safe. He's safe. He's safe._

Over and over she told herself this, forgetting she wasn't alone in the room, not seeing Charlie's growing worry.

"Hermione?"

Charlie's utterance was a mere whisper for her face had gone a shade whiter than gray. It looked like she would be ill. Her fingers were gripping the wooden tabletop, the tea forgotten and her eyes gleaming feverishly.

"C-charlie? Are there names?"

"Names?" he echoed watching her with concern.

"Names of the dead," she spat, her voice catching. "W-who…the dead, how many? Who?"

"Hermione-"

"Charlie!"

The gaze she gave him was nothing short of murderous.

"They say dozens," he told her with hesitation. "Lines of them, faceless, nameless Ministry supporters, some lower level Ministry officials…"

The chair she had been sitting on scratched roughly against the floor as Hermione shoved away from the table, getting to her feet abruptly. He swallowed to finish what he had been about to say.

"They suffered a huge loss, Hermione. Their Commander of the Executioners is dead. Shacklebolt killed him."

She stared.

_He's safe. He's safe. He's not with them. He's safe._

But she had to know; she would have to find out.

"I can't stay here anymore, Charlie. I have to go."

Hermione had never been more serious. After all, there was no other choice.

* * *

><p><em>Ministry of Magic<em>

_London, England_

Antonin Dolohov was dead.

With his death came a crumbling of one of the Ministry's inner circles. None of them were willing to put their fear into words, but fear was there nonetheless. It was a deep-seated emotion, eating away at the edges of conscience and possibilities, an irrefutable presence among them and a force to be reckoned with.

Just like the growing Alliance.

Could it be true? Was the Ministry growing weak against what they had believed unworthy opposition?

The battle had been brutal. Even those well trained and uneasily scared had been shaken. It _should_ have been easy, a sneak attack on an unsuspecting line of defense on the border of the Welsh countryside. It _should _have been Voldemort's first victory in expanding his line of control. To control Wales would mean an easy, direct route to the English Channel and the possibility of expanding control to the Irish Ministry of Magic.

Instead, they had been sent on retreat, licking their gaping wounds.

Antonin was dead at the hand of a disgusting blood-traitor. They had not allowed said traitor to live, not after what he had done to Antonin. Yes, Dolohov was dead but so was Shacklebolt – murdered because he had dared to murder one of their highest military officials.

But Shacklebolt's death had not righted the crippling blow against the Ministry. Without Dolohov's staunch leadership, the Executioners had faltered in battle. The unbreakable, tank-like line of undefeatable dark magic had been cracked by Dolohov's death, allowing the Alliance to penetrate and savagely cripple what had already been a faltering Ministry retreat. The Alliance had been able to take down several higher-ranking officials, including Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and two others. No one within the Ministry knew where they were being kept but one thing was for certain.

The Ministry could no longer underestimate the Alliance. Never again would they go into battle with confidence.

Fear itself had managed to entwine its icy, hard fingers into the very souls of those working within the dark, shadowed walls of the Ministry. Everyone was on edge, everyone wondered what the next step would be – what their Lord had chosen to do. Silence rained cruelly upon those who had survived the brutal battle, a greater and more hopeless presence than that of even the Dementors.

And in the bowels of the damned building, screams could be heard.

"MY HUSBAND!"

The screech was relentless, echoing against the walls of the dungeon courtrooms.

"THEY HAVE MY HUSBAND!"

Bellatrix Lestrange fought against the men who held her elbows in vice-like grip. Even though she was strong, the Executioners holding her were stronger and they remained staunch and unmoving. The only others in the room were lines of heavily clad men that had survived the first major Ministry defeat. They said nothing as Bellatrix screamed.

"THE SHAME!"

She growled like an animal fighting against its chains.

"TO BE BEATEN BY BLOOD-TRAITOR FILTH! THE **SHAME**!"

Her eyes were trained to the corner of the room, where a large, high-backed chair sat and in it, the man she believed she was in love with. The man who was leader of all.

"It is quite the shame, Bellatrix."

His high-pitched voice had once been a dulcet tone to her ears. Now she heard only dismissal, indifference and a man who cared nothing for human emotion. Had there been any emotion in that voice, it was long gone leaving in its wake a gaping, black emptiness. The sound echoed terribly through the room.

Bellatrix stopped fighting against the Executioners as if all her strength were gone and for a few moments the only sound in the torch-lit room was her heavy breathing. Her heartbeat was erratic, a heavy thing, like a booming drum.

Was he even a man? Did she understand this…this…monster-like creature that she called her Lord? What was it she felt for him as she stared at the back of his gray-white head even as he did not give her the courtesy of his gaze? She trembled against her captors willing him to turn, but he did not and when she spoke, her voice was weaker than she wanted it to be.

"They have Rodolphus."

"So you have said."

Her mouth was dry and her long, wild hair had fallen into her face in the most irritating fashion. She had no way to brush it from her flushed, clammy face.

"My Lord, I beg you-"

_No._ That sounded too weak, too…emotional. There was no place for emotion now, she knew. It had been years since she had even considered something as unimportant as emotions. There was no room in the world for such rubbish! And he would not have it; he would not allow her to be so weak. He would not allow her to feel.

Closing her eyes, Bellatrix tried once again, her voice lost for a few moments but she willed herself to feel nothing.

_My husband._

What sort of monster would be indifferent towards a woman's pain at losing her husband?

_No. No, I feel nothing. I feel no pain._

And yet-

"He…he is necessary, my Lord. Necessary to our cause! What happened today, it…it is not good for the Ministry-"

He turned fluidly, moving with a feline-like grace. He watched her curiously, with a cold inhumanness, bone-white fingers linking together in a most casual stance. Bellatrix thought he should have been more furious at the blatant defeat that had come upon him- his Ministry really – but he seemed only…calm.

"Ah, but I know it."

He moved towards her, down several stone steps so that they would be eye to eye. Bellatrix gazed at him unflinchingly, having taught herself never to shirk before anyone – be it slave, master, friend of foe. Never show fear – even if it exists.

But gazing on him this time was different than all those other times. She couldn't remember a time before when she had felt the need to speak back to him, to question his orders, to consider what he was saying. She had supported him. She had fought for him. She had worked with fever and madness to be at his right side. Nothing had mattered more – no one had her mind and heart the way this monster did.

He _was_ a monster. And she _loved_ him.

Rodolphus was her husband, but he was a man who could never have offered her the things she had wanted – power and control over all others.

The man staring unfailingly back at her - his animal-like eyes glowing inhumanly in the dim lighting and the thin, lipless mouth pulled back into a frightening grimace – he was the one that she had believed could offer her the things most dear to her blackened heart.

If ever Bellatrix had loved – it was the man before her. Some may have called it madness but in the end it did not matter. For him she would have done _anything._

"Bella."

There was a way he had with words, reminding her of the man he had been at one time. The syllables both enticing and frightening coming from his mouth. His long-fingered hand reached towards her even as she was rooted to the spot. Bellatrix no longer struggled. She knew that she would not leave this place; she would do anything he required of her.

"Come," he said.

She watched as he walked, his long, black robes sliding along the floor like a silent, satin waterfall. He moved as if he were a ghost and not human at all.

If he ever had been.

She followed and he moved towards the shadows turning only when they were alone.

"You understand more than anyone what it is I need."

Bellatrix only stared, her mouth hanging open just slightly – as if she was seeing one of the world's greatest wonders and not the soulless monster that was truly there. Somehow in this place and before this man, she could hardly remember the horrid battle that had just ensued. Her husband had been captured by the Alliance, taken away kicking and screaming. Rodolphus gone, Rabastan with him. Many others fallen and the Ministry tattered.

"My Lord?"

Her whisper was one of adoration as she watched him with baited breath. His pale, gray hands tightened around the wand he held.

"We will be victorious, you understand. How can it be that I, Lord Voldemort, faced my enemy and rose above him? I have defeated Harry Potter."

He leaned towards her.

"I will live forever. And along with me those who have been my closest advisors."

He swept his hand towards those who waited behind them.

"You will regroup, my Bella. Lord Voldemort is merciful and I will understand this…failing."

He offered a smile that was really more like a grimace.

"I will not punish them for failing me. I will give them time to regroup and we will attack once more. We will not stop until they have all been squashed like the insignificant insects that they truly are!"

And so it would be, she knew. The Ministry would not fail – they _could _not. After all, there was no other choice.

* * *

><p>Hermione stood facing Charlie and the look she gave him was relentless and stubborn. She did say another word at the news of the invasion and her emotionless reaction was more frightening than if she had broken down in wails or screamed out in anger.<p>

But she had not. There had been simple, silent acceptance. And now this.

Charlie wished that she had remained silent.

"I won't let you go."

"I will."

She spoke as simply as possible but each word dealt a blow.

"Hermione, you're mental!"

He glared at her sharply and would not let her interrupt.

"No one in their right mind would let a pregnant woman anywhere-"

She would not be deterred, brown eyes locked with his in an undeniable way.

"I _will_ go! See if I don't. If you won't help me, I'll find my way alone."

He gaped at her.

"I'm only trying to protect you! Do you know how angry Neville's going to be if I send you to Cardiff in your condition?"

There was a slight hesitation but she quickly steeled herself against Charlie's obvious concern.

"He'll understand. Don't you see? I don't belong here! I need to be _useful!_ I want to help, Charlie! Neville will need all the help he can get, won't he? Once all those from battle come seek him out."

There was no way Charlie could argue with that. He took a breath.

"Hermione, if you would only wait just a few more months. I'm sure…this-this isn't over. This whole mess – the war – these battles won't end, at least not yet!"

She had been clinging to the tabletop. Lord, help her. What if she never found out where Draco had gone? What if he died in one of those battles and she never knew? Her eyes watered.

"I know! When the baby is born I'm going to join them!"

The horror was evident in Charlie's eyes.

"You'll have a child!"

"I know that, but it won't stop me! This war isn't just for men and women who have no one waiting for them at home! What about Remus? Tonks? What about your parents, Charlie? I have a purpose! I have goals and I have dreams!"

There were tears that glimmered in the depths of her eyes, and she began to cry. She had her dreams, yes. Her dreams of finding Draco and uniting her family. Just like thousands of others. Just like Blaise and Lavender. Just like-

Charlie's eyes watered too and then he thought of his family. Brothers and sisters who had given up everything – a father who had been brave, a mother but also a martyr.

He would not argue with her again. How could he?

"All right."

His jaw trembled.

"Just remember you have family here. You're my family. And you're Ginny's family."

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"I know it," she whispered moving to hug him closely for a few moments. She took a breath and let go.

"Thank you."

Her face was a portrait of sincerity.

"Thank you for understanding. For knowing that I can't hide forever."

She turned quickly towards the direction of her room.

"I ought to pack. I won't waste time now that the snow is gone."

Charlie watched her go, a troubled expression on his face. Somehow it seemed too soon to watch her leave; it was too soon to have her fully entrenched in the Alliance especially with the growing turmoil. Not while she was pregnant and not in full condition of battle. And the fact that she had no wand-

She was gone.

* * *

><p>In the small bedroom, Hermione was on her knees and the small lockbox on the floor before her. The lamplight glittered off of the jewels that studded Draco's necklace and then she clutched the wand tightly in one hand, her eyes closing.<p>

_He's safe. He's safe. I know it, I just know it! But even if he's not, I'll find him. Somehow, I will. I can't stay here; this isn't home. Home is where he is and I can't stay here and wonder._

It had been something Charlie had said that morning, something about those who were fighting and those who had fallen. She had known in that moment, upon walking back into the cottage that she could no longer stay there. She was needed elsewhere; she would go to Neville, who needed her.

And when her baby was born and safe, she would fight.

Her fingers tightened around her wand.

_This is my chance. _


	55. Chapter 55

_Thanks everyone for the reviews, alerts and faves. Keep them coming! They're encouraging as I drag through this part of the story. Admittedly, I don't like it as much as what I have coming for the last quarter of it (which I have partially written because it's just that much more FUN). I'm a bit lax in posting because the exchange has begun and I'm working on my piece for that. I also have a new story in the works - something I'll start after Crimson, but more on that later! I want to address a quick comment made by one of my reviewers as to why Voldemort is not in battle since he is immortal. The answer to that is that he isn't. This story follows Deathly Hallows in the fact that Harry fell during the battle at Hogwarts, but after he found most of the Horcruxes and destroyed them. Since there is no Nagini in this story, it is to be assumed that the snake is also dead. So it's just Voldie. Anyway, though I'd mention that. And now...on to the chapter! In this segment, Hermione begins her life in Cardiff, and the Alliance suffers a painful blow. Enjoy! And as always, your thoughts are important. :)  
><em>

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat when she and Charlie arrived at the train station early the following morning. She was wearing a warm, winter coat and clutching her meager belongings close to her chest lest anyone find the lockbox and ask questions. She couldn't have that. The sky was a deep blue but it would soon lighten as the sun awoke and began its dance along the sky. The sound of the whistle in the distance was mournful.<p>

"There it is."

Charlie's voice was sad and Hermione glanced up at him for a moment.

"You'll be fine, Charlie. You and Angelina will need the extra space in the cottage."

Her glove hand came up to rest on his.

"And you _know_ I need to be somewhere else."

Charlie looked perturbed as he ran his hands through messy red hair.

"So you've said."

He heaved a sigh and his breath lingered in a frosty puff for a few seconds.

"I've…arranged for a travel partner. So you'll be safe."

"Charlie, I don't need-"

Hermione's indignant reply seemed rather like false bravado, she knew, for only six months ago she had been as helpless as a newborn babe and desperate for help from anyone.

He turned just as the train pulled into the station and a figure approached them, clothed in dark. At first Hermione's heart stopped – it hadn't done that in a long time – and when it began to beat erratically once more she realize she _recognized_ the wispy, blond hair and the fact that the person was _female-_

"Hermione."

Tears sprung to Hermione's eyes. Tears of shock and joy, of relief and of excitement.

"Luna!"

Luna smiled and her blue-gray eyes lit up brilliantly.

"You're beautiful, Hermione. I had hoped you would be, in spite everything, but here you are and it's really true."

It was a strange greeting, true, but somehow Hermione had expected such from the woman who was studying her critically, but not offering any more conversation.

"Luna," she began again and finding no words to express the sudden rush of joy, Hermione reached between the small space between them and put her arms around Luna tightly, hugging her close. Luna smelled of flowers, fruit and sunshine.

"The baby," breathed Luna and Hermione blushed nodding.

"Yes, I-"

"Neville told me."

An understanding passed between them just as the whistle blew impatiently.

"Come on, then," announced Charlie and within moments, Hermione found herself on the platform once again, just like she had been the first time.

Tear-filled gray eyes crossed her memory and she pushed them away with a choked gasp that made Luna's brows furrow. Ignoring Luna's uncanny way of catching onto things everyone else was missing, Hermione took Charlie's hands in her own.

"Thank you," she whispered looking up at him. "You didn't have to be so kind."

"I know."

His was a half-smile, a sort of roguish grin.

"And I'll miss you."

"Not as much as we'll miss you. Don't forget us, Hermione. You hurry back when you can."

She took a deep, uncertain breath knowing that nothing was for sure. She knew better than to believe that everyone would make it through the months to come.

"I will."

She leaned up to hug him, holding him close.

"Tell Angelina and the baby I love them."

"They love you too."

The train began to move and Luna reached out with a pink and purple striped glove to take Hermione's elbow. She gave Charlie a peck on his stubbled, cold cheek and soon the train began to move out of the station and she watched him until he was completely gone.

_Why does it have to be like this?_

Hermione's heart was in pain at yet another loss, even though this time it hadn't been nearly as painful. She felt the gentleness of Luna's touch on her elbow.

"Come on, Hermione. You don't want to catch a cold."

But Hermione couldn't move right away, the image of Charlie's last grin lingering on his face, his hand lifted in a reluctant half-wave. She blinked away heat and then stumbled after Luna, taking a deep breath to stave off the poignant sting of loss.

* * *

><p>She said nothing for the longest time, Luna thought. She sat still, like she was dead, a pale, lifeless face staring out of the window at the drab, winter landscape. The only sign of life was the occasional hitched breaths and the way her trembling fingers snaked across her growing belly. The sun raced across the sky as the day waxed and waned and as the night shadows began to fill the train compartment, Luna finally stood, leaving for only a few moments and returning with a sandwich.<p>

"You should eat."

The whisper made Hermione jump and she turned, as if seeing Luna for the first time.

Luna's lips turned up in a tentative smile as she pressed the sandwich into Hermione's slack hand.

"The baby needs it."

It was all Hermione needed to hear; the sandwich disappeared within moments that were drenched in tense silence.

Luna sighed and sat back against her seat.

"You know, not everyone in this world hates you, Hermione."

A strange sound escaped the curly-haired brunette as she looked up. Her eyes widened-the whites bright in the growing darkness.

"I never said-"

"You don't have to," replied Luna softly. "Sometimes it's so easy to read silence."

Hermione felt her throat constrict quickly, making breathing nearly impossible and leaving her light-headed. Luna's voice was neither accusatory nor condescending.

"You don't think all those months at the cottage that we weren't worried about you? Not just Charlie and Angelina, but Neville, Ginny…and everyone in the Alliance? Me?"

Hermione hadn't cried the whole train ride, but now in the darkness and the plaintive timbre of Luna's voice assaulting her, she felt her eyes water over.

"I can't assuage your…I can't- it's not like I can just _speak_ what's on my-"

Her voice was ragged from disuse and the pain that she so bravely tried to hide. How could she speak her heart? In a world where she still felt confused and alone? What of the war? What of the fact that the Ministry would still eliminate her? What of the fact that she had seen disgust in Ginny's eyes at the revelation of the truth?

Luna could feel Hermione searching her face, as she often had the books in Hogwarts' library all those years ago. A moment later, she shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

"I don't know what to tell you; I don't know what to tell _anyone."_

_I can't tell anyone! That's the problem! More's the pity because if I could, I-_

"It does get easier, you know."

Luna's voice held a note of understanding. It was something Hermione had felt was lacking from Ginny, Neville…from some of the others. And that was what made her speak.

"What?"

"When Rolf first died, I…"

The words hit Hermione like a boulder, leaving her breathless as she stared at Luna. How was it that one's own pain made it so bloody easy to forget others? Just because she was suffering didn't mean that her friends and those she called family hadn't suffered as well! Shame washed over her as Luna spoke.

"It's like there's this…hole," she attempted to say. "It's deep and black and nothing…bloody _nothing _can fill it. Nothing can ease the ache and you feel it with every beat of your heart, ever breath you take."

Hermione nodded, her heart thudding dully within her chest.

_Yes, yes._

"And you wake up sometimes and reach across the bed to his space and it's empty and you know it's never going to be…he'll never be there. And you hate dreaming because in dreams you're happy, you're together and he's smiling…"

_Yes, yes._

Hermione watched as Luna's hands came up, pressing against the hollow of her throat, fingers clamping down.

"And you just want to…you want to choke it, the pain. You want it to go away, you wish you could die, so that you can be…wherever…"

Tears shone in Luna's blue-gray eyes as her head turned towards Hermione.

"It's not like you're alone, Hermione."

The reminder was a ragged whisper, choked by unshed tears.

"I'm here. We all are; we all worry about you."

Hermione felt like Luna wasn't just looking at her but…inside her. And not even a master of occlumency could block her deep searching. Hermione didn't feel so alone suddenly and the idea that Luna could read her so well was…comforting.

She wished that someone knew her pain without her having to speak it. The train rushed on and the two women sat in silence once more.

"Luna?"

Hermione saw the blond woman turn her head.

"Yes?"

"Tell me about what's happened to you all these years."

It wasn't exactly what Luna had expected but she didn't want to press Hermione to speak of things she wasn't ready to. And so she began talking, her voice muted in the night shadows. Hermione closed her eyes and listened, forcing herself to remember that she wasn't alone and that others had suffered too. Others had lost children, husbands and loved ones. She would not forget that; she couldn't.

* * *

><p>When the train arrived at the Cardiff station, they were the only two left standing on the platform when it pulled away with a wail and hiss of wheel against metal. Hermione shivered and pulled her cloak around herself more tightly as the wind picked up for a moment. In the distance she could see the faint lights of the city. Soon she would be back in a bigger city and she would be able to blend in. Would this be home? Is this where her future lay so far away and different from the one that she had imagined with Ron? And more importantly, different from the one she had dreamed of with Draco?<p>

Looking down, Hermione fought the pain of loss once again. Why had he left her? Why hadn't he fought for the possibility that they could have made it away together? Instead he had…abandoned her. That was the right word, she decided, for she felt utterly abandoned.

"Come on."

Luna's voice was a soft cajole. She was already holding all of Hermione's meager possessions, including the lockbox that she had tucked into her travel bag.

"I've got a Portkey."

Hermione stopped watching her old friend.

"Luna, where do I go from here?"

The question was one she had been considering for weeks really – the entire time she had been keeping house in St Davids. She remembered Draco's words the day in the lorry right before they said good-bye; he had told her to go to Cardiff eventually... and now she was there.

"Well," said the blond woman, "we'll get you a new name for awhile so you can fly under the Ministry's radar, so to speak. And you'll need a job but Merlin knows that Neville needs the help right now with the war growing much too…"

She stopped, shaking her head and Hermione took a breath.

"I haven't a place to stay or any money."

Luna gave Hermione a dreamy smile.

"There are safe houses all around the city. And as far as money, I can lend you some-"

Hermione's eyes flickered from Luna's peaceful expression towards the lights in the darkness. A city she didn't know; a life she would live all on her own? Was it possible? Wasn't she supposed to help the Alliance? Where was Ginny? Where would she go when she was ready to help?

"Hermione?"

"A safe house?" asked Hermione. "By myself?"

The thought terrified her somehow.

Luna gave her another small smile, her blue-gray eyes twinkling in the darkness.

"Did I mention that my flat is one of those safe houses?"

Hermione's anxiety-ridden heart began to slow as she stared at Luna. Thank God.

"I spend most of my time going between the WERA and Neville's clinic. I'm never home and so the boys stay with Minerva most of the time."

There was a tinge of sadness to Luna's soft voice now.

"It gets so lonely when I stay here. I do hope you'll stay with me, at least for awhile."

Hermione nodded.

"I can't imagine doing anything else," She said with a tiny laugh of relief. A plan – she had a plan. "I'll be able to work and if Neville gives me pay I'll give you half of it for rent."

Luna gave her a quizzical look.

"Hermione, you don't have to do that."

"I know. But I'm going to anyway."

Then Hermione took a huge breath and offered a smile she hoped she would feel eventually, following Luna out of the station.

* * *

><p>The girls set out early the following morning just before sunrise, after only a few hours of sleep. Hermione knew that she needed to sleep; she just couldn't. Something had set her on edge – perhaps the move, or perhaps something else – but whatever it was it gave her no peace. Luna's modest but comfortable flat was located on the northwest side of the city, only a few miles from Neville's clinic and a block or two away from a long and winding street of shops and other vendors. She told Hermione that the location was chosen due to its convenience and the fact that she spent most of her time with Neville at the clinic.<p>

"When I was living alongside the WERA in England, Neville would pick me up at the train station each week and it got to be…a bit much for him, I think," she mused as they walked along the pavement under a canopy of ice-laden trees. Beyond that street, Hermione was aware of the early morning traffic.

"It's amazing what we've taken for granted all these years."

Hermione looked at her friend and Luna pursed her lips.

"You understand, with Apparition and the Floo…"

She faded away as Hermione looked the other direction. Too many had forgotten that as a Muggle-born the conveniences of the Floo and Apparition had been taken from her so long ago she could no longer recall sometimes ever _having_ such a convenience.

After this, Luna stopped speaking and Hermione found herself silently grateful that her companion was sensitive enough to know when words were unnecessary. They walked along, turning at the first intersection and heading towards the Clinic.

"Do you need to stop anywhere, Hermione?"

She paused her walking, motioning towards the shops on either side of the car-laden street.

"We could get something to eat? Or perhaps you need…clothing, another coat or some…toiletries?"

The offer was hesitant, as if Luna wasn't sure how Hermione would react. The brunette stopped and looked up at the lightening sky between the buildings that rose up on either side of her.

"A pawn shop," she stated with determination.

Luna frowned.

"I know you want…Hermione, you needn't pay me rent or-"

She stopped when Hermione gripped her hand almost painfully.

"I know. But I want to."

There was no doubt in her voice – no room for argument.

"I'm free now and I need to live like it. I can't be living off of you or anyone else. My wedding ring will get me enough for at least next month's rent and I also have…"

The necklace, she remembered. It was beautiful and it had gone perfectly with the red, satin dress Draco had chosen for the Lestrange's party. Hermione remembered the fairy tale feeling that had washed over her as she had stood wearing the dress and exquisite necklace. Besides her wedding ring from Ron, those two things were the only ones of value that Hermione had even been given.

The dress was long gone and she realized that she was about to give away the ring and necklace. Was it worth it?

_It has to be. To start my new life, I need to do this._

So that's how the two women found themselves standing in front of a tiny pawn shop, Hermione hesitating just slightly and Luna looking perturbed.

"It's your wedding ring," she reminded in a whisper as if Hermione hadn't already known what she was parting with.

"_And I, Hermione, take you, Ronald to be my husband. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do we part."_

_He was smiling up at her from his chair and Hermione's heart felt like it would burst it beat so frantically. She slipped a small, gold band on his finger, her own trembling with the effort and then she took a huge breath, staring at the band on her own finger, a symbol of Ron's undying love for her. Life wasn't perfect; they didn't know where they'd be next, or what would happen but at least she knew they'd be together…_

The band sat in the calloused palm of Hermione's hand, glinting dully in the early morning light. She didn't dare look up at Luna's face fearing what her friend might see there.

_Hermione stared, a strange gasp escaping her as Draco placed the tiny gold band in the palm of her hand. It glinted by the light of the living room lamps. _

_She couldn't speak; she couldn't do anything for a few moments. She was overwhelmed by what had happened between them in the hotel room just days before, confused at the flood of strange feelings for a man she purportedly hated. He was a Death Eater; he was vile and hateful and soulless and yet…_

_He was returning her wedding ring – the only thing with any meaning to her. It sat, cool and solid against her flesh and a rising of tears overwhelmed her even as Hermione willed herself not to break down yet again before this man. An enigma, he was, a truly complicated puzzle and she feared what she would find once she put him all together._

"_M-my wedding band," she hissed. _

_Draco swallowed. She could hear his throat moving in the stark silence of the room. _

"_You can't begin to understand how horrible I-"_

_Something stopped his hoarse, dry words. And when she looked up, Hermione could see sympathy glimmering in the steady depths of his gray eyes. Quickly, almost roughly, he forced her palm closed against the gold ring._

"_Take it."_

_His words were simple, without emotion._

"_They've – I've – done too much to you already that you shouldn't have at least one measure of comfort."_

_He left her then, standing in the middle of his large living room, one hand clasping her wedding band tenaciously and the other holding the end of a vacuum cleaner hose…_

"Hermione?"

Luna's soft voice broke into Hermione's reverie. Closing her palm against the ring just as she had done so many months before, the curly-haired brunette looked up and blinked. Luna touched her arm.

"You're certain you want to pawn the ring?"

Hermione nodded with determination.

"I don't need it to remember Ron. What I _need_ is money."

Luna had already learned not to argue with a stubborn and determined Hermione. She nodded silently, twisting her own wedding band around her thin ring finger. There was no way she'd give up that tiny, last memento of Rolf's love. It might have been different for Hermione; she might have been desperate to prove that she could make it on her own, but still.

"Wait here," Hermione instructed and then walked into the pawn shop making sure that Luna did not see the other piece of jewelry she was willing to part with – Draco's necklace. Somehow, pushing the gorgeous, glittering piece hurt more than her tiny wedding band. She wondered if it was the affection tied to each or if it was something entirely differently. Swallowing the needling pain at parting with the two items, Hermione offered a bright smile.

"How much?"

* * *

><p>The money she got from the proprietor of the pawn shop would be enough to help Luna pay flat rent for six months.<p>

_Six months._

By that time, Hermione knew the baby would have come. And she would hopefully have secured a job with Neville or with someone else to garner some savings. Then she would leave Cardiff and go wherever Ginny and the children were – she would find her family. And hopefully, when the war ended, she'd find the other half of her heart. She needed Draco - for better or for worse. She needed him to be happy. Even though she knew that he had hoped she would eventually forget him.

_That's what he wanted me to do, wasn't it? He abandoned me, leaving me to forget him and move on with my life. He wanted me to be happy!  
><em>

Anger battled with pain as Hermione followed Luna to a cozy little eatery for an early lunch. She feared that forgetting him would never be possible.

The two women ordered food and as they waited for it to arrive, Hermione was suddenly, painfully aware that it would be the first time in over ten years since she had eaten at a restaurant, had someone else serve her food.

_Bloody hell._

This everyday moment for most others was of monumental importance to Hermione; she was both exultant and tearful. She was on her own. She was normal. She was _free._

The two women finished their meal in companionable silence and then while Luna ordered some sort of chocolate éclair, Hermione sat back, her hand resting on her protruding belly as she watched the slow crawl of those who passed by their window. As she ate her luscious dessert, Luna watched her friend thoughtfully.

"You really loved him, didn't you?"

The question startled Hermione and she turned her head much too quickly, feeling her head spin.

"I-I loved Ron, he was my husband."

It was the automatic answer; it was the answer they were all waiting for. Ron was the one she would have ended up with if things had been right. He would have been the father of her children, and they would have had a house and a life and…love.

Luna smiled a bit whimsically, her eyes knowing.

"The father of your baby, I mean."

Oh. Ohhh…Draco.

Hermione's heart ached at the thought of his name. Five months now, it had been. Five months and it had felt like five lifetimes. If this was love, Merlin, she wanted no part of it! The pain was overwhelming, assuaged only by long hours of distracting work.

"Yes," she replied hoarsely, for Hermione could think of no reason to lie, and in fact, her very soul recoiled at denying what she felt for Draco, be it right or wrong. He was not Ron; he would never be Ron. Perhaps, he would never be the sort of man she could freely be with and that meant…

_I'll have to move on. Someday…and somehow. _

But at the mere thought of being with someone _else _the delicious meal that Hermione had just consumed threatened to reappear. Was that not love – this feeling of being claimed by someone and hearing her heart whisper 'him and no one else'?

_No. No, I can't think like that! I have to know that someday I'll have another life. If he never returns to me can I be the fool and wait for him?_

Tears filled Hermione's eyes and Luna looked saddened.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to open painful wounds. I know how it feels to lose that one person so close to your heart."

Hermione sniffed, unable to look into Luna's kind, blue-gray eyes. Not now, not yet.

"He is…gone from me now."

"We've all lost people."

Luna squeezed Hermione's fingers.

"But it gets easier," she promised. "You'll want to move on. You moved on from Ron, did you not?"

As Hermione stared towards the busy street she took courage from Luna's words. Indeed, she had moved on from Ron. Her life and the conditions of such a relationship were unthinkable, but she had done it. She had been desperate, she had needed him but amidst all that there had been something real between herself and Draco. That something continued to live within her aching heart. Gathering her crumbling emotions, Hermione took a breath and glanced at Luna.

"Do you want to move on?"

Luna smiled.

"Of course," she said softly. "I loved Rolf but I want my boys to have a family. He would not have denied me happiness if I found it again."

Her eyes were shining and she seemed to exude a special type of warmth; it relaxed Hermione more than she had since escaping from London.

"Neville?" she guessed, waiting for a blush to color Luna's cheeks. She has suspected something when Neville had spoken of her so fondly all those nights they had spent playing wizard rummy.

But Luna's smile faltered a bit.

"Oh, Neville…I could never. Not really, Hermione. I…I hurt him so much in the past."

The words were contrite and she spoke quickly and in low tones about knowing Neville's feelings and choosing Rolf Scamander anyway.

"I couldn't deny that part of my heart. With Rolf, I knew it. I knew from the moment he smiled at me."

Hermione nodded, a lump in her throat making it difficult to swallow.

"I understand."

She hesitated.

"But now it's different, Luna."

"It is, but it won't ever be…Neville."

Luna's words seemed so heavy and final that Hermione wasn't sure what else to say and so she chose silence for a few moments before continuing.

"I can't imagine ever…"

"I know, but you will. Trust me."

Once more there was promise in her tone and Hermione swallowed back tears.

"I suppose I'll have to."

"Someday, you will."

Hermione wondered, however, how long 'someday' would be.

* * *

><p><em>WERA Headquarters<em>

_England_

The death of Kingsley Shacklebolt sent a ripple of pain and anguish through the entirety of the Alliance. Most had no words, others grieved with tears and whisper laments. He had been a great man, and a fearless leader. He had been a fierce fighter and a role model to those at his side. And he had never forgotten those who were suffering at the hands of the Ministry, his goal always being the welfare of the weakest ones.

The WERA laid him to rest with a proper funeral, paying him respect nearly as reverent as on the day that Dumbledore had died. No one could have been more deserving.

Only days after Kingsley's interment, the weight of leadership moved naturally to the able shoulders of Lee Jordan. The Alliance knew they would need a strong leader and there was little to do but hope that Lee would carry the burden and continue to defend the cause as fervently as had Kingsley. But even as the WERA struggled to accept the great loss they could not forget the trouble that seemed to be brewing on the horizon. The Ministry had mounted attacks along the border of Wales once again, and the Alliance defended their lines fiercely in spite of the pain and shockwaves threatening to devastate them.

The goal was in sight. They could not let the Ministry do what they were intending to do. They would not let the tragedy slow them down, even if amidst the battle, it continued to mount.

Dean paced the floor outside of the double wooden doors like a maniac and the movement was starting to drive his companions insane.

"Dean, mate, you'll wear a hole in the floor you will."

Seamus' attempt at humor was lost on the brooding, black boy. Beyond the doors the sound of Minerva's stern murmur and Poppy's grave replies could be heard.

"What happened to him?"

Dean stopped pacing, glancing at the battle-weary group in the room.

"Why can't we go see him?"

Lee had fallen in battle; no one knew had happened and the rapid murmurings from those on the other side of the door served only to increase the panic in Dean's dark eyes. He was sick of battle. He was sick of defending, cursing, fighting, and struggling for his life. He was sick of it all.

_Why am I not dead?_

He was not a man who often indulged in self-pity and he loathed himself for failing to stay strong but with Kingsley dead and Lee…possibly to follow-

"No more funerals. I can't take it!"

His pacing had begun once more, this time with increased fury so that his footsteps echoed throughout the room. More had gathered to see the commotion.

"What are we going to do now?" he spat.

"There's Zabini."

Ernie spoke calmly, a stark contrast to the growing panic around him.

"He's always managed to lead us in the right direction. If only for a while, until Lee gets back on his feet-"

Ginny jumped up, eyes blazing passionately.

"Stop it, all of you! Do you hear yourselves? You're talking like Lee is already dead! He's _not!_ We can't have Zabini in charge!"

The others looked at her warily.

"Ginny, calm down," Cho whispered.

Ginny whirled on the dark-haired girl.

"No, don't tell me to calm down!" she hissed. "You want Zabini to lead the Alliance! Who is he besides the obvious? I've told you all, he's not after _our_ interests! He's after his own! Something's not right with him, I'm telling you!"

Tears sprung up into her eyes when she saw the doubt written in the eyes of her companions and battle mates. No one wanted to believe her simply because Zabini had done a few good things for the Alliance. She opened her mouth to speak again when the double doors opened and a weary-looking Minerva emerged.

The silence grew tense and deafening.

"He is alive."

Poppy stepped next to Minerva.

"But he's not going to be able to fight. Not right now; I rightly don't know _when."_

Dean's body had relaxed.

"But he'll live?"

Minerva pushed a strand of loose, grey hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

"He'll live, Mr. Thomas."

"Thank Jayzus," whispered Seamus, clutching Ginny's hand if only to calm her down because the fire still blazed within her.

Minerva glanced at the pale, haggard faces before her.

"We'll take some time to regroup," she said haltingly, realizing for a moment that no one was in charge and that by some strange reason, fate had taken away the strength of the Alliance by one swipe of a cruel hand. "B-but we must be ready when the Death Eaters come again."

She swallowed, looking around.

"Where is Mr. Zabini?"

Ginny pulled out of Seamus' tenacious grasp.

"Don't be a fool, Minerva!"

She whirled on her companions.

"All of you! Don't be blind! How can we trust him?"

Minerva sighed.

"How can we afford not to? He's shown us nothing but allegiance. He has given up his position within the Ministry, rejected the Mark on his arm, and become one of our protectors. If we are to win this war we _must_ set aside our prejudices."

Ginny's lips trembled.

"I see his prejudice against anyone who doesn't agree with him. It's no better than the Ministry or Voldemort or…"

Ginny's eyes burned with tears of frustration and then with a whimper, she rushed from the room leaving the others behind. Her exit seemed to increase the tension between the group that remained in the room until Seamus got up, moving slowly as if burdened by something impossibly heavy.

"I'll go Apparate and tell the groups what's happened," he offered in a flat tone. Ernie nodded.

"I'll go with you, mate."

The two disappeared.

Dean took a breath, still uncertain as to his next move but Minerva had asked about Zabini and at that point they had very few to turn to. Zabini was strong in the face of adversity. He could help the Alliance stay focused at least until Lee recovered. They would have to trust in him; it was the only way to truly be united.

"I think Zabini's been guarding the Lestrange brothers. Thinks he's going to get something out of them. Something to help us infiltrate the Ministry."

Minerva nodded stiffly.

"Someone should go there. Speak with him. Find out what he thinks we ought to do now."

She motioned towards the double doors.

"I'll stay with Mr. Jordan."

She turned and walked slowly back into the room, allowing the doors to close behind her. Dean turned back to those who remained in the room.

"We've got some time. We can't possibly face the Ministry again until we have a plan. I'll be back soon."

_Lord help us._

He was gone with a 'pop'.


	56. Chapter 56

_As always, so glad to hear from all of you. Time constraints have forced me to post this much later than I had hoped – but this chapter came much quicker. Good thing. Lots of things going on but I'll let you read to find out! Character death, so be aware. Oh, and Draco should be making an appearance soon; I'm trying to pick up the pacing. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX<p>

* * *

><p>Zabini stepped forward and jabbed the end of his wand against the man's neck hard enough for it to hurt. He leaned in, dark eyes gleaming with ruthless determination.<p>

"Tell me," he hissed. "Where is Greyback?"

The man groaned, yanking away from the offending wand tip and twisting against the frayed rope that was bound magically around him.

"Let me go, Zabini! You filthy, Mudblood loving piece of _trash."_

Zabini knelt down near his two prisoners, glancing first at Rabastan, who had spoken.

"Tsk tsk. Sticks and stones, my friend. Sticks and stones."

He eased up on the pressure of his wand but did not break eye contact with the bound man.

"You tried to kill my daughter," he hissed, his breath against Rabastan's ear. "You were with Greyback and Dolohov that day in Paddington. I know it."

Blaise stood, never taking his eyes off of the two men who sat bound against one another in the dim corner of a the basement room that the Alliance was using as a lookout point.

"It's time to pay the piper," he mused quietly, running the tip of his wand against his lips almost thoughtfully.

Then he turned, studying each of them with intensity. He wished that he had paid more attention at school, that he was a better legilimens. It wasn't that Blaise needed confirmation; he _knew _Rabastan had been with Dolohov and Greyback, he just wanted _proof._

He stepped towards them again. It was Daisy who Blaise was thinking about. He cared little at the moment for anything else but revenge. Revenge on those who had tried to hurt his child.

Suddenly the other man spoke up gruffly.

"Oy, that snot-nosed little half-Mudblood brat? I wish she were dead! Had I been there, I'd have made sure!"

In one brutal movement, Blaise's wand connected with the side of Rodolphus' face, leaving an ugly welt and causing the man's eyes to water. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, stark red against his pale, bearded face.

"Don't you ever call my child such degrading names!"

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Zabini! You worthless, Muggle-loving bastard!"

Blaise smirked coldly. The brightness of the blood against pale flesh seemed to fuel his rage and thirst for vengeance.

"Such false bravado will get you nowhere," he mocked.

The welt on Rodolphus' face reddened further as Blaise continued with a harsh laugh.

"Do you really think your Ministry will come to the rescue? Dolohov is dead and I _will _find Greyback. And all three of you will pay. The whole Ministry will, for this bloody war that keeps people apart and destroys family."

Rabastan began to struggle roughly against his bonds, his eyes flashing like those of a rabid animal. Rodolphus spat out a mouthful of blood and stared at Blaise hatefully.

"I knew you were a bad one! Told Bella, I did! I told her you were good for sodding nothing and that the first chance you got you'd defect from the Ministry. I was right! Fool woman put you in charge and for what?"

Blaise yanked Rodolphus up by his collar the movement sharp and careless.

"Who are you calling a fool?" he whispered. "When it is I standing before you with the power to save you or have you murdered? When it is your Ministry that is struggling to survive now? The Alliance has more power than you think!"

Rabastan let out a hoarse, choked laugh.

"You hold no power over us. Not your or your fool notions about family and togetherness. Or your bloody Alliance!"

To this, Blaise began laughing.

"You're wrong," he said in a tone devoid of all emotion. "I'll show you who is in charge."

Lifting his wand he waved it towards the magical bonds holding the Lestrange brothers together.

"Diffindo!"

The rope was severed and Rabastan tumbled forward out of balance giving Blaise the precious seconds he needed.

"Stupefy!"

Rodolphus fell backwards, hit the wall and lay still. Rabastan leapt to his feet and brandished his own wand, hurling a blasting curse in Zabini's direction. The younger man dodged the jets that flew across the room, cursing the entire time. Rabastan moved forward with a cry but he wasn't quick enough for Zabini.

Blaise pointed his wand directly at the other man's heart and stopped thinking. It was over very quickly.

_Fuck proof. I don't need it._

He smirked.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Rabastan fell dead and Blaise stood at his feet in breathless triumph.

"I know it was you," he whispered to the dead man his words dying in the stale, cool air.

He felt a mixture of horror and exhilaration fill him at the realization that he had killed a man whom had been an ally for so long. But it didn't matter – the Ministry was not the ally, they were the enemy. And the enemy needed to be destroyed. All those who fought against him and his family would be destroyed. Dolohov was already dead thanks to Kingsley. And now Rabastan had joined him.

_Two down, one to go._

And after? After, Blaise decided, he'd take care of the Ministry itself.

There was a clatter and a the muted sound of anxious voices from above and Blaise quickly stepped over the dead man's body moving to bind up Rodolphus once again before quickly pointing his wand.

"Ennervate."

Once the man in bonds realized what had happened the only sound that escaped him was a feeble moan. He was no longer fighting.

"Zabini?"

Blaise turned, tucking his wand away.

It was Dean who entered the shadowy confines of the cellar.

"Bloody hell what happened-?"

There was no time to explain, Blaise realized and he quickly motioned the black man forward.

"He's dead. I can't explain."

Dean blinked staring down at the body. A mixture of emotions washed over him. He felt relieved for this death meant one less enemy to face. He felt shock that Zabini had so unmercifully been able to-

He recalled Ginny's words but even as he did, Dean attempted to stop thinking altogether.

No, Zabini was the good guy, no matter what Ginny thought. This was war; there would be brutality at the hands of _both _sides. There was no escaping that. Dean's heart thumped heavily within him, pounding so loudly he thought everyone in the room would hear. His eyes met Zabini's.

"Lee…Lee cannot-"

Blaise's face was a mask of nothingness.

"He is dead?"

Dean shook his head.

"No, he's alive but he won't be able to help us right now. We need…we need a new plan."

For a few moments Blaise said nothing, his mind racing with possibilities. He had wanted to travel to London, using Rodolphus as bait to infiltrate the Ministry headquarters. That would have to wait; the Alliance needed him.

He could see it literally _written _in Dean's eyes.

_Lavender's friends are my allies._

Though his personal goals had driven him this far, Blaise found that he could not turn from the Alliance for it would rouse too much suspicion. And having control over the WERA…

It was an opportunity that he could not pass up.

"Who is with you?" he asked quietly. "Get them together."

"Poppy can't keep up with the numbers of injured."

"There are always those who will continue to be willing to fight. We _must_ continue to fight or the Ministry will infiltrate the borders."

Dean swallowed painfully the image of Lee falling in battle a vivid, horrific painting in his mind.

"We don't even know where the Ministry forces are."

Blaise smiled which seemed a bit odd and then he turned to the man bound in the shadows.

"We do not. But _he_ does."

* * *

><p><em>One month later<em>

The sun shone brightly through the tall windows that lined one side of Neville's research laboratory. Hermione opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.

The papers she had been working on the day before still lay untouched where she had left them. That was one thing she enjoyed about working with Neville, she did her thing and he did his and neither had the penchant of getting in the way.

Hermione's days had fallen into a comfortable routine of getting up, going to work, and coming home. Apart from that she chose no to think much further into her actions. Her only focus had become to save as much money as she could before the birth of her baby. That's really what it came down to – having enough money that she could eventually have her own flat and support herself and her little one. She would need money to move closer to her family – to Ginny and the children. And if she could, she would fight along side them until the war was over. And then…

Hermione stopped riffling through the paperwork for a moment, blinking away a sudden rush of bitter emotion.

Nothing, not even the security of her new life and routine could _truly_ erase the sadness she felt.

Hermione thought of _him_ often; the dreams had not lessened and his presence hovered always nearby, like a ghost. Sometimes she felt him almost physically, as close as skin. It was both shocking and troubling. She wondered where he was and what he was doing and she prayed he was all right. The thought that something had already happened to him was one that paralyzed her with pain. It didn't help to hear the news that would occasionally trickle as far west as Wales – news of death and fighting along the borders of England and Wales between the Ministry and the Alliance. She had already known, of course. Charlie had told her over a month before. But to know that it was continuing and the thought that one of her family would die – just like so many others – made her want to weep. And not only that but the knowledge that she had no clue where _he _was, well, that made things all that much worse. Too many times, Hermione had nearly broken down and gone to Ginny in hopes that someone could help her find him. But then she would recall the day at the cottage and the look of disappointment on Ginny's face.

_She wouldn't help me, would she?_

She didn't know, but she didn't think she could bear to find out. In the end, Hermione knew she couldn't worry over both Draco and her baby – she would go mental.

If she wasn't already.

* * *

><p>The Alliance continued to defend the border of England and Wales with a beastly ferocity. Under the leadership of Blaise Zabini, they were able to not only hold their lines but to send the Ministry flailing backwards once again in another unsettling defeat. In spite of initial doubts of Zabini's ability to lead, he showed himself to be utterly glorious in the face of adversity, possessing a stubborn determination and nerves of steel. Some would have said that he seemed to be unmerciful but others chose to believe that in war there was no such thing as mercy. He was masterful with his wand and brilliant in mind, always seemingly one step ahead of those whom he had aligned himself with only years before. There were those who did not trust him because of what he had been but with time it was undeniable that his knowledge of the Ministry and those within it would prove to be a priceless asset.<p>

Those who fought alongside him had admitted that the way with which he fought seemed personal; Zabini never did anything halfway and those he battled almost always lost. And when the battling was over he never seemed to rest, instead always looking ahead to the next altercation. There were many but it seemed that the insurmountable goals of the Alliance were now within reach.

Fate seemed to bless the Alliance with victory but she still reminded them that the world was filled with pain. In spite of Minerva and Poppy's hesitant prediction that Lee would live and their constant vigilance, he lingered for several weeks before finally succumbing to the curse he had taken in battle. Lee's death marked a change within the Alliance. Some were opposed to Zabini's permanent leadership role while others, buoyed by the headway made at his command, welcomed the idea.

In the end it seemed foolish not to allow Zabini charge of the forces as he seemed more willing than the others, if not most capable. And so the forces of resistance gained a new commander.

Never had anyone imagined that it would be a man who had once called himself a Death Eater.

It was rumored that Lavender Brown had made no qualms about her displeasure at staying with the WERA for she had wanted to flee out of the country and take her family with her. Thus some said that the only moment of uncertainty that they had ever seen flicker across Zabini's face was the moment he was asked to take charge of the forces. Eventually, Lavender softened her stand and Zabini was able to take full command with confidence and no guilt.

Only weeks after he did so, Lavender married Zabini in a small, private ceremony somewhere near the WERA headquarters. The two newlyweds had little time to spend together as only days after their nuptials, he was called back out into the field for the Ministry had attacked once more.

The fighting was fierce but Zabini and the Alliance forces were a steel wall, allowing nothing and no one beyond the lines that he defended with fervor. The Ministry lost another battle and were sent in retreat. The Alliance took prisoners – Death Eaters and Ministry sympathizers who could be used for information about the Ministry and the whereabouts of other parties of Executioners who were hiding around the border of England and Wales, waiting to attack.

Zabini led the questioning of these men and women, some nameless and others he had worked with before, in a past he no longer cared to remember. When the Death Eaters did not easily give up information, he began to torture them. After all, these were those who had tortured Muggle-borns in the past and so they _deserved_ what was coming to them.

No one questioned Zabini.

Death Eaters begged for respite, for their very lives. But the Commander was ruthless and showed no mercy. He spoke of having to make an example of all those captured so that the Ministry would know, once and for all, who they were dealing with.

Perhaps no one saw the shift in power, or perhaps many did and said nothing. One month after Blaise Zabini took charge of the Alliance, the first Death Eaters were executed for war crimes against the Muggle-borns and half-bloods.

They were the first of many who would follow.

* * *

><p>On a late evening in early June, Draco and Hermione's son was born. He seemed in a hurry to arrive, as Hermione's water broke only an hour before his birth. He was a small baby with curiously long legs and tufts of chestnut-colored hair.<p>

Though later Hermione would vividly remember his entrance into the cruel world, giving birth had seemed like a whirlwind of fear, excitement, pain and joy. She would remember later that it was the fantasy of Draco at her side that helped her through the ordeal. Only when she was finally holding her bundled son in the crook of her trembling arms did she realize how real it all was.

"Hello, little one."

She welcomed her son with a whisper, running one finger tenderly along his downy-soft face, overwhelmed at the feeling of holding him finally, after so many months.

Luna had prepared the spare room in her flat for when Hermione would need it and Neville had helped bring her son into the world. His cry was rich with life and the tiny boy trembled from the cold, but once he was settled against his mother's breast he seemed content.

Ginny and Seamus had arrived only an hour before his birth and the children surrounded Hermione's birthing bed, each wanting a closer look at the new baby. Lily, because she was the youngest and held a special piece of Hermione's heart, got to climb up on the bed so she could peer down at the baby.

"He looks nuffin' like you."

Luna, who had been opening the windows on the far side of the room, gave Lily a tolerant smile.

"That's because babies take a bit to look like their parents," she explained.

Then she gave Ginny a smile. "Isn't that right?"

Ginny nodded, pressing her lips into what she hoped was an easy smile but what she knew Hermione would see right through.

"Yes, Lily. You were a tiny, bald thing when you were born."

Her words were quiet but affectionate and her eyes never left Hermione's new son. Then she looked down at her daughter, who was gazing back up with brilliant green eyes. Ginny caught her breath and then spoke tremulously.

"But you have your daddy's eyes."

Lily beamed at this, happy that she had inherited something from her famed father.

Hermione gazed down at the baby and she counted his fingers, his toes, and made sure that everything was as it should have been. Just then, her son opened his eyes wide as if offended by her inspection.

Hermione nearly gasped; he had eyes the same exact color as his father. She concluded immediately that there never had been a baby quite so perfect. Tears filled her eyes and she hoped that those around her would simply assume they were from joy. She wasn't able to truly verbalize the sudden loss she felt – the overwhelming feeling of missing Draco so much that it hurt.

As Lily peered down at the baby, Hermione offered her a tearful smile.

"He looks like his daddy, Lily."

It was the one and only time that any of them had heard her mention the baby's father. Lily looked up in wonder.

"What happened to his daddy? He's dead like mine?"

Hermione could not speak in reply so she busied herself tucking the baby's blanket around his tiny body even though his legs kept coming free.

"What are ya gonna call him, Hermione?"

Albus pushed his little sister aside a bit so he could look down at the baby.

"I'm named after the two greatest headmasters daddy's school ever had!"

At this statement he puffed out his chest rather proudly, his brown eyes shining. Hermione smiled at this wearily.

"That you are," she said with a bit of nostalgia.

The she glanced down at the strikingly beautiful baby.

"I don't know," she murmured after a moment. "What do you think he should be called?"

She looked up at the three children, noting the eagerness in their bright and happy faces. They began talking over one another making Hermione chuckle. She wasn't sure what she'd call him but she knew she had a bit of time to decide.

"I wanna hold him, Mama!"

Lily seemed adamant in her request and Hermione finally handed the baby to Ginny watching her family hold him for the first time. Before tears blurred her vision, Hermione could see a look of admiration and awe on Ginny's face as she held him. At least there was the _hope _that Ginny would see beyond who the baby's father was – accepting him completely no matter what.

* * *

><p>There were plenty of people about in Luna's flat that night and the day after, allowing Hermione proper rest after giving birth. Neville was a constant comfort, always in the background and always more than eager to help by bringing a glass of water or a change of clothing. But in spite of the people around her, Hermione had trouble not falling apart.<p>

She had brought a child into the world. Her child. His child. _Their_ child – they had made a baby. A beautiful baby that Draco had not seen born. Each second that slipped by seemed like a tiny death. It terrified, angered, broke her in ways she had not believed she could be broken. And there was nothing she could do. Her only salvation now was the look of utter peace in her baby boy's gray eyes; each time he gazed up at her Hermione felt her broken heart healing just a bit. At least she wasn't alone now. She would always have her son.

Hermione watched Neville limp across the room to open her window and let in the early summer air.

"You know," he mused turning around. "If you don't name that child soon Lily will have your head."

His light brown eyes were sparkling with mirth as he eased into a chair he had placed between the bed and the window. It was several days later and he had been with Hermione and the baby each day without fail. He was her constant companion, it seemed.

The little boy was napping at her side, the sun dancing off of his brown hair. Hermione watched him thoughtfully.

"I know it," she said with a small laugh. "She wants to call him Ginny after her mother no matter how many times I tell her that's a girl's name."

Neville laughed.

"Can you blame her, really?" he questioned, lifting up some of the baby's used diapers and putting them next to the waste bin by the window.

"I want it to be a good name," Hermione stated with a nod. "Something strong."

Hermione gazed down at her son and then looked up at Neville, a smile on her lips.

"I ought to call him Neville."

He blushed, the color rising up from his neck to bloom on his full cheeks.

"That's silly," he stuttered.

"I don't think it is," she countered. "After all, it's a good, strong name. You're one of the bravest men I know, Neville Longbottom. And even more than that, you're good and humble. Silent and strong."

The color on his face deepened as he shook his head and as Hermione watched, he got up and began to move about the room picking things up and putting them down, wiping the furniture clean of nonexistent dust. He moved slowly, his limp evident.

"You mean I'm a stuttering doormat who happens to be unable to fight on the front lines because of a war injury. Just because I have a knack for working with plants doesn't mean I've been that useful, Hermione."

He paused as if ashamed.

"But I don't mind you saying so."

Hermione watched him as he faced away from her, looking out of the window that overlooked the street that Luna's flat was on.

"Neville, why do you always do this? You underestimate your worth."

He didn't move but she could see that his shoulders had shifted a bit – stiffened, really.

"I do it because I _should_ have been fighting this whole time with the others, Hermione. I should be with Dean, Seamus and the rest of the WERA. But instead I'm here, working with a few bloody plants and _trying_ to believe I'm being useful."

She sighed.

"But you _are_ useful. Without you, where would we bring those injured? Where would the refugees go? You heal people, Neville! That's not something to scoff at! That's…you're like an angel."

Neville turned at the statement and there was a strange, startled look in his eyes.

"Luna always said that," he mused with a small laugh. Hermione gave him a smile.

"She still says that and she's not wrong."

The baby shifted in his sleep and Hermione lifted him into her arms and studied him. There was a long and profound silence.

"I think I'll call him Leo."

Neville's eyes brightened for a moment as he returned to his chair, his earlier embarrassment gone now. The baby yawned and stretched his long legs.

"The Gryffindor lion," he countered. "That's a good name, Hermione."

"To me it represents bravery and strength."

"That too."

She adjusted the baby's blanket.

"I think George for a middle name."

She felt a flurry of sadness as she wondered what Draco would call his own son if he had the chance to choose. She had never known Scorpius' middle name nor did she want to name a baby after Draco's lost son, afraid that it would bring back those awful memories if ever Draco returned to her.

Neville smiled but Hermione sensed a hesitant sadness there too.

"I think it's brilliant. The Weasleys were your family for so long…"

His voice had taken on a note of nervousness. Hermione took a breath.

"They still are, Neville. I can't ever forget what…they've done for me."

"So he'll be Leo George Granger."

Somehow it just didn't…sound right, she decided. Not even when Neville said it a second time. There was a rushing in her ears and a pounding in her temples. The name really did work, she knew. George to honor the Weasley family and Leo…well, Leo to signify her Gryffindor heart and courage. But not only that – Leo was a constellation. The name was in honor of the Black family tradition of naming their children after the stars. She would honor Draco's family as well. She _had _to.

_Gods, I wish Draco were here! Leo's not just a Granger, for bloody fuck's sake! He's a Malfoy! A MALFOY!_

"Accio, water!"

Neville summoned the glass pitcher that stood by the entrance to the room and then poured Hermione a glass, watching her with bright eyes.

"What about his father, Hermione?"

It was as if Neville had read her mind and just the idea that he knew what she was thinking about was disconcerting. Hermione shifted in the bed, careful not to disturb Leo and she looked away.

"What about him?"

The statement was clipped, leaving no room for discussion if Neville had wanted one. The man by the bed grew agitated.

"It's been months, Hermione! Won't you tell me what-"

"Leo's father's not important!" she exclaimed painfully. "He's not here, don't you see? I'm alone! I've always been alone!"

Even through his mother's growing frustration, little Leo seemed oblivious and peaceful in sleep.

Neville got up and Hermione didn't catch the determined look that flashed across his face.

"Etamin. You should call him that. To honor his father's family tradition, don't you think?"

Hermione's head snapped up in shock.

"What are you getting on about, Neville?"

"A star in the Draco constellation, yeah?" he snapped angrily. "And someone you'd rather not talk about, isn't that right? You want to keep secrets from all of us? There's no such thing, Hermione!"

He looked down at the sleeping boy.

"Leo George Etamin _Malfoy_."

The glass Hermione had been holding shattered against the floor as it slipped from her weakened grasp. The glass breaking masked her gasp of realization and it startled Leo awake. He began to scream.

* * *

><p>Neville hadn't wanted to hurt Hermione; he simply realized he had allowed his frustrations, which had been simmering for months, to come to the surface. The fact that she grew suddenly pale and tears swam in her wide eyes tore at his too-kind heart.<p>

"Y-you know?"

Her whisper was hoarse and tinged with disbelief. There was a sad resignation in her eyes and she looked the part of a woman betrayed.

"No one knew but Ginny and she promised not to tell!"

"She didn't," he replied hurriedly. "It was Luna. She…hears you sometimes, when you're sleeping."

The color that flooded her cheeks was a brilliant red against her white pallor. At first Neville thought she'd cry for she looked on the verge of tears. It was only a few moments later, as her face hardened and her eyes flashed vehemently that he knew he'd be taking the initial flood of her anger.

"So you'll judge me now, won't you? Just like Ginny!"

Neville took a step back, shaking his head. But he knew better than to speak.

"I can tell! All of you are the same!" she raged. "Everyone thought the Ministry was horribly prejudiced against those who weren't pureblooded but look at us! We're the same! We judge a Death Eater for the Mark on his arm just as surely as Voldemort has judge me for my blood purity! All the same and all disgusting!"

Neville reached down to calm Hermione who was sobbing over her little boy's wails.

"No, Hermione. Who am I to judge you?"

The question hung in the air and for a moment she managed to gather a semblance of calm, rocking Leo back and forth to calm him down. He seemed content after a few moments and his wails lessened to whimpers.

"Why should I believe you or anyone else?" she asked thickly. "I saw the way Ginny looked at me. I'll bet you're thinking it right now, aren't you? How disgusting and desperate I must have been to sleep with him? How Leo is nothing but a Death Eater's son!"

Her words were harsh and bitter and the look she gave him was heavy and laden with mistrust. Neville took a deep breath and then laced his large and rather clumsy hands through her smaller ones, giving them a squeeze.

"No. I'm thinking how brave you were all that time, in that horrid alienage. And that in spite of everything they put you through you wouldn't let them win."

Their hands stayed joined as Neville continued, carefully choosing his words.

"I'm thinking that you faced moments in your life that none of us will ever face and that we shouldn't judge you if you found someone to offer you comfort."

Neville searched the depths of Hermione's brown eyes hoping that she would believe his sincerity. Her lips trembled and a single, rogue tear ran down her face. He fumbled in the breast pocket of his waistcoat to remove a handkerchief and quickly reached to wipe the tear away.

The feel of the wetness against his fingertips sent a shock of unfamiliar sensation through Neville and he stopped, pulling away as if burned.

"I'm…I'm so sorry for everything you've been through, Hermione."

He found his tongue was thick and his face hot. But Hermione didn't notice, only staring at him without a word.

"You didn't deserve it; no one deserves something so horrible."

Neville searched her face and she looked lost and confused, as if she was with him but not really _there._

"Hermione?"

The worry was evident in his voice but Hermione did nothing to assuage it.

"You won't tell anyone?" she whispered. "He-he asked me not to tell anyone. He wanted me to be free. He said so long as I was linked to him that could never happen. You do understand?"

Neville ignored her question but spoke with the same hushed tone as Hermione.

"Where is he?"

She was looking at him with feverish intensity in her eyes but he attributed that to her recent childbirth and the fact that she had grown so pale. _  
><em>

"I-I don't know," she admitted.

"He abandoned you?"

Neville had stiffened though neither had let go of each other's hands.

"Hush," Hermione chastised in a hoarse tone, her eyes reproachful. "You promised you wouldn't judge."

Tears there.

"Hermione, I'm just worried about you."

"Would you make the Vow?"

"What?"

"The Unbreakable Vow? Promising that you won't tell a soul about who Leo's father is?"

Neville was confused; he didn't understand. But something about Hermione face, something in her eyes made him say the words anyway. His finger ran gently along her thumb and he hoped the words would offer her comfort.

"If that's what made you feel better."

She relaxed then, visibly leaning back against her pillows, some color flooding back into her face. She looked towards the windows blinking rapidly even though Neville could see the struggle against tears.

"I won't make you do that," she whispered. "I just need you to…understand. And not to say anything. I trust you."

For long moments they sat in silence, her hand laced in his and resting on top of her duvet. Neville had noticed that it had grown cold. And even though he didn't like it, he found himself agreeing with her request.

"I won't say a word."

She finally looked at him and then pulled forward to wrap herself around him in a hug. Neville held her for he could think of nothing else that could comfort her right then. He knew she loved Draco; he knew what it was like to love someone who wasn't there.

A few hours later, Ginny and the children came to visit. Hermione and Luna made a supper for everyone who had crowded the rather small flat. It was a rowdy, rather disorganized affair and afterwards as they sat around the living room Hermione shared with them what she had named her baby - Leo George Etamin. She hoped that those who knew the truth about Leo's father would not say anything - and right then, Hermione could do nothing but trust those around her. And so she did.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Just in case anyone was wondering - all the names suggested were awesome and I actually pondered all of them (I had a printout, lol) to see which one would work the best (yeah, I'm so attached to this story that even minor things aren't so minor!) I chose Leo George Etamin for the reasons mentioned in the chapter. Leo was actually the one suggested the most and one I had in mind before I asked you guys so that one wasn't hard. I loved the idea of honoring the Weasley family and Fred didn't sound as good as George so I went with that. And I LOVED the idea of the constellation - though I hadn't found a name that worked until someone suggested Etamin so..there you go. My second choice was Sebastian! But oh, they were all so good! Ok, I'm done now. Thanks for reading! :) _


	57. Chapter 57

_When I first started this story I remember being able to update every couple of days. It's nice to say I did it again! This might be it for a little bit though; it's going to be a bit busy the rest of the week. I hope you enjoy. This chapter is a bit darker than the last few. Just though I'd mention it. Oh, and thank you again for reading and reviewing, particularly to those who attempt to read this beast all at one time! I applaud you! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>The fighting throughout England and the borders of Wales continued. There were whisperings of trouble up north, in Scotland although Voldemort had managed to get a good foothold there.<p>

The Ministry forces were determined, retreating only a bit before striking again and then again. But Blaise refused to be defeated, forcing his army to hold their ground, fighting even as those around him fell in battle.

The hot summer melted into a mild autumn and then another cruel winter arrived.

Filius fell ill right after the holiday and died that January, much to Minerva's heartbreak. Charlie and Angelina married in February but because of the fighting between England and Wales, no one, not even a distraught Hermione and Ginny could get there. Shortly after, Angelina became pregnant once again and this time she hoped for a boy so to carry on the Weasley name.

Blaise had ordered all known captured Death Eaters killed and so the Ministry forces could do nothing but fight for their lives, knowing it was victory or a certain death. Never before since the fall of the Ministry had the Mark been a sign of doom and those branded with it prayed to survive.

When Rodolphus Lestrange wore out his use, Blaise had him executed and tossed aside. It was this, more than anything else, that drove Bellatrix to take over as Commandant of the Ministry Executioners and she raged angrily into battle, a formidable opposition to Blaise. At her side, the ever faithful wolf Greyback ripped and tore at those who were not being cursed. Though he had his own wand he tended not to use it, opting instead for more painful, grisly ways of killing people.

With Bellatrix at the head of the forces the Alliance was held back and even sent into retreat. Panic rippled through what had been glowing and confident forces. The fighting turned stagnant, each side unable to get a foothold on the other. Too many died; there was too much destruction but nothing could be done to stop it.

There was silence during the whole of March and April, there were only ragged and choked whisperings coming from the dying and wounded that would make their way into Wales. The Death Eaters were dying, they would say, but not at the expense of too many good people in the Alliance. Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbot lost their lives that month and the few in the WERA that could spare a moment had burials for them along with all the unnamed who had died for the cause.

And then, on a beautiful morning in early May, The Ministry Headquarters in London fell to the Alliance. Blaise had managed to infiltrate and bring it down.

All hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>It was a village of the damned.<p>

The firelight from a dozen torches whipped in the turbulence of the night breeze. The orange light was a beacon to those who were seeking a moment of respite from their sorrows and pain. Light was a symbol of hope; light was the scattering of darkness that had fallen over the hills and valleys of a land that was filled with only death and fighting. It offered some brightness in a lightless world.

But as much as the darkness was loathed, more was the daylight, for at the sunrise, they were more easily spotted; they were perfect targets.

The flat, darkened land was dotted with these billowing torches and around them were hundreds upon hundreds of souls. They lay, sat and crouched on the roughed, earthy terrain. The lucky ones had tents in which they could take shelter and the unluckiest of them all had to rest their weary bodies on the hard, dirt packed ground. Some were children, some in their prime and others were much too old to still be fighting. There was no food; there was no true rest for any of them for even in sleep the nightmares of what might come would plague them. They huddled together as there was safety in numbers, although true safety no longer existed.

They dared not use any magic at all apart from that which kept the torches lit. They feared that magic might give away their allegiance and therefore lead to their inevitable deaths. Though there were many hundreds of them, there little was spoken and an eerie, long-suffering silence lay blanketed over them.

Just beyond the flickering of the torchlight lay bodies of those slowly dying and those already long dead, the stench rising up to mingle with the scent of the firelight, dirt and breezes. These dead had once crawled and stumbled to the fire lit clearing hoping for help that did not exist and from those who would not give it even if it had. The ones still living had long ago gotten used the stench of death, both disgusting and alarming. They knew what death was – each of their senses had experienced such.

To their north lay a dark and thick wood – the perfect protection from anyone that might come to infiltrate their shoddy, man-made village. To the east and west lay open, flat terrain and anyone coming could be easily seen. And to their south lay a massive lake which provided protection and the water needed for drinking. In the navy, turbulent waves bobbed more bodies – those of suicides. Death by their own hand had proven too tempting in the face of what might come.

The sight of half-alive humans and the dead all around them, the sound of their whimpers and wails and the taste of fear – it all seemed woven together into a tapestry of the macabre. Still, the living would not give up – not all of them.

These villages had started to rise up along the Welsh, English and Scottish countryside within days of the fall of the Ministry. All order had been lost and many had died during the infiltration in London. Lord Voldemort had disappeared, abandoning his followers, showing cowardice where there should have been bravery and betrayal where there should have been loyalty. He left his followers floundering in confusion and despair and those still loyal to the Ministry or desperate enough joined forces with Bellatrix, mounting attacks against the unfailing Alliance.

But others fled from the city during the London battles, running for cover in the countryside. It was these that had formed the aforementioned villages, spending their days and nights fleeing from both the Ministry and the Alliance. They were the rejected. The Ministry had not taken well to their change of allegiance and the Alliance had been ordered to kill Death Eaters upon sight, not giving them a chance to explain or showing them any sort of compassion. These damned souls lived in terror hoping each hour that they would live through the next.

The irony was that Blaise Zabini would show no mercy to those who bore the same Mark on their arms as he did.

* * *

><p>The first time Leo smiled at Hermione she wept. It seemed cruel and unfair that Draco not be there for such a beautiful moment. The first time he laughed tears sprung up into her eyes for his laughter was the most beautiful sound in the world. The first time Leo sat up Hermione laughed and clapped her hands encouraging him and making him smile up at her and she swore that he knew what was going on.<p>

Hermione fell in love with her baby boy more every single day that passed. She couldn't get enough of him from the way he babbled to the way he reached for her when he was sleepy. He was the perfect baby, most content in the arms of his mother but rather of a sunny disposition which allowed him to be passed from one person to another. His toothless grin was infectious and he won over each person that gazed into his beautiful gray eyes. And not only was he unarguably quite the beautiful child, Leo was brilliant, having inherited this from both of his parents. He was crawling around the flat by six months of age, his long legs proving very sturdy and he was speaking at eight months of age, toddling around by nine and speaking nearly in full phrases only a month before his first birthday. Neville, who had become Hermione's closest friend during that time, declared that Leo was one of the brightest children he had ever come across.

The little boy was alert and aware of things around him, and he silently boasted of concentration and tenacity that most other boys his age did not have. He showed a propensity for learning and changed each and every day, so much that Hermione wanted to weep at all that Draco had already missed.

Hermione was proud of her son, she adored him, and she spoiled and doted over him. But restlessness filled her heart as news of the fighting trickled into Cardiff and more and more wounded seemed to be shuttled into Neville's care. Her heart broke for every soul that lost their life and she mourned the deaths of her former friends and classmates.

And she missed Draco, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She prayed that he was still alive somewhere. And she prayed for the end of a war that she believed would never end because she believed that he would come back to her when it was all over. Though she had come to Wales hopeless, Hermione's friends and the people around her had helped her find hope again. And that was what she had to cling to even if such hope was futile.

Three weeks before Leo's first birthday an oppressive silence had filled the Clinic. There were no empty beds and Hermione's arms and legs hurt so much from walking and working that she thought she might be numb from the pain.

It was while she was feeding Leo his lunch that Neville burst into the tearoom on the fourth floor of the hospital, his eyes bright with excitement and his face flushed pink. She knew that face; she prepared herself for what was coming for it would be monumental.

"The Ministry's fallen," he breathed holding out a copy of the Quibbler.

Because the Prophet out of London had been controlled by Voldemort from the day he had taken over the Ministry, questionable news sources and magazines that had once been called worthless rags had become the most reliable source of information to those who were aligned against the Ministry.

Leo's gray eyes moved between the two adults in the room as he attempted to feed himself with the spoon that Hermione had put down, a bit put off that his lunch had been interrupted.

Hermione took the Quibbler in hand and stared at the news article unable to breathe.

What Neville had said was true; London had been attacked by Blaise's forces and they had been victorious, attacking the Ministry at its heart and bringing it to the ground. Many had already perished and more had fled the city and disappeared. Bellatrix and Fenrir Greyback had mounted a retaliation effort while Voldemort had fled to safety.

The article was brief and offered few details but Hermione sat back in shock.

"Where do you suppose Voldemort has gone?"

"I don't know."

"What an evil, traitorous coward."

Neville didn't reply for it wasn't necessary. No one had believed that Lord Voldemort cared about anyone but himself. He had proven it once again.

Leo broke the ominous silence with indignation.

"Mama, I eat _mowe_!"

Hermione blinked tears away as she tried smiling at her son.

"I'm sorry, baby."

She mechanically fed Leo bite after bite of his meal but he was perceptive and could see his mother's agitation and began to fuss, refusing to finish food he had wanted only moments before.

Neville got up immediately, scooping the baby up in his arms and smiling at him.

"I think it's time for a nap," he suggested.

Leo looked at Neville as if offended.

"No nap. I pway wif ball."

"After you nap."

"I bite you!" declared an angry Leo.

Neville raised an eyebrow.

"What did we say about biting? It's only for…?"

"Doggies."

"Very good."

Neville put Leo down on the ground making sure his long legs were firmly planted and then offered his hand. Leo took it and then walked towards the door babbling about doggies and food and his ball.

Hermione put her head in her hands as she fought tears and listened to her son's innocent banter finding it harder to hear amidst all the dreadful news coming from London. She didn't want to think; she didn't want to cry. But neither was possible in that moment and she gave into her emotions, weeping softly into her hands.

If the Ministry had fallen, where was Draco? Had he joined forces with Bellatrix? Or was he fleeing the city and being hunted? Was he dead? Was he hurt somewhere? Would she ever see him again?

She was angry and she was terrified, both emotions warring within her until she thought she'd go mad.

"Hermione?"

She jumped at the sound of Neville's concerned voice but didn't move, unable to hide the fact that she had been sobbing.

"He's resting."

Still she could say nothing, she felt so overwhelmed by the news. There were footsteps and then the sound of his sitting down. After that, silence.

That's what she liked most about Neville; he wasn't one to force conversation unless he saw she wanted it. He let her cry it out in silence, sitting close enough that she could reach for him if she needed it. Hermione didn't; she didn't want to reach for anyone. The last time she had done that, he had been taken from her.

When her tears ceased and she felt the heavy blanket of weariness descend upon her, Hermione looked up. Neville was watching her patiently, one hand on the table near to her. She reached forward, putting her hand in his.

"Thank you for putting him down for his nap."

She reached to wipe her tears away with her other hand and Neville found himself wishing there was more he could do. He wished he could offer her the comfort she needed. And he wondered why it was that she loved another man when he was right there next to her trying to be everything she might ever want.

* * *

><p>War changed people. What you believed in changed and sometimes the side you fought for changed. Some people grew oppressed and others felt freedom. Fear became your constant companion, bitterness the seasoning of life. You learned what it was like to truly hurt, to truly lose. And you had to grow in strength and determination. Whether you faced the fighting or worked to help heal those who needed it, you were never the same.<p>

Feelings changed too, as Neville Longbottom had realized.

He had loved Luna Lovegood for as long as he could remember and sometimes he forgot that he was supposed to move on. He had been the friend all through school and then watched her fall in love, marry and have children with another man, leaving him behind. And for whatever reason he had never quite let her go.

But now as he gazed on Hermione he realized that something was different. Neville realized he had feelings for another woman; he cared for Hermione and letting go of Luna was as easy as taking his next breath.

It was a thought that both thrilled and terrified him. Love, just like anything else, came with a price. Unfortunately sometimes you didn't choose who and when you loved someone and even if you didn't want to pay the price, you had to. He hadn't chosen the girl and he hadn't chosen to feel anything for her and yet he did.

Neville wondered if she knew. After all, Hermione wasn't a foolish woman; she never had been. A part of him hoped that perhaps she was just distracted with her son and her freedom, even so many months after leaving London. But the biggest part of him feared and worried that she knew his feelings and simply did not acknowledge them because she did not feel the same.

He sat back at the kitchen table, listening to the large clock Luna had purchased at a Muggle shop downtown ticking on the wall in the nearby living room. His heart thumped funnily within him and his mouth grew dry as he watched Hermione try to stop her tears over another man.

_I'm always going to be that bloke, aren't I? The one that women never want._

Neville felt stupid, awkward and out of place as he tried to reason with the sudden bout of love he felt for the brokenhearted woman sitting before him.

_I love her, don't I?_

It was odd, he realized. He had always been aware of his bashful and misplaced feelings – for months, even before Leo's birth, he had struggled with his mild attraction for her. He had held her hand through the pain of not having Leo's father with her during her son's birth. He struggled to learn how to feed, change and take care of an infant so that he could be the person she wanted and needed him to be. He had laughed along with her, hoping to brighten and bring hope to her life. He had called her a friend, a coworker, had forced himself not to think of her as a woman – a beautiful woman at that – and focus on his own life and his work. He had tried not to love the little boy that wasn't his.

But Neville realized as he watched her cry over a man who hadn't been in her life for nearly two years that he was in love with her. Why else would the thought of losing her and Leo cause his heart to shatter into a thousand pieces?

* * *

><p>They came from the east, trudging slowly, nearly crawling along the earth towards the orange glow along the cast iron sky. Daylight was only hours away and they had been walking in silence for two nights, hiding out during the day as to not get caught by either the Ministry or the Alliance. Getting caught most likely meant death and even though death would have been welcome, the human soul had a strange tenacity about it that it would not let go of hope unless it was completely gone.<p>

There were two of them, dressed in long, ragged, black cloaks that draped over their huddled frames so that nothing could be seen but their dark figures moving slowly. He clutched a pack to his pack which contained their meager food supplies; these were things they had managed to scavenge from old campsites and dead bodies. That was all that was left now – death and more death.

"There…it is."

Her voice was quiet, hoarse as she pointed towards the source of the orange light they had been following.

She had been ahead of him and he nearly bumped into her when she stopped abruptly.

For a moment neither spoke nor breathed as they saw the expanse of flat land before them. In the distance they could see billowing torches and small, dark forms huddled around them. Scattered here and there were the outlines of tents.

He shuddered and she reached back to offer her hand in comfort though he did not take it.

"Safety in numbers."

"There's no safety anymore, Pans."

His voice was broken and rattled up from within him, the sound decrepit.

He wanted it to be different but it wasn't. He also knew, however, that if they did not go _forward _they would have to go _back _and there was nothing to go back to. Not anymore.

Slowly, wearily they trudged on and moments later they were able to breathe in the sent of lake water. He breathed in again and his stomach rolled violently as the rotting stench of death and decay assaulted him. It was sticky and cloying, causing him to stop and gag, his eyes watering.

"Bodies," she whispered with horror, for she had stepped on a lifeless, black form.

A rattled, dry gasp issued from her as she stopped in cold fear, trying to swallow back her acrid vomit. It wasn't like she had eaten anything in days anyway; they were rationing the meager supplies they had but it was hardly enough.

As they stumbled back into a walk, there was a shimmering to their left and she realized that it was water; they had reached the water. It was a lake of some sort. The torch-lit encampment lay only what seemed a mile ahead.

"Be careful," came his dry whisper and she turned her head to see his face grimly lit by the distant firelight.

He was pale and emaciated – a far cry from the lithe and handsome man he had been only a year before. Against the black of the hooded cloak his face was skeletal and if it hadn't been for the few locks of white-blond hair that had fallen against his alabaster skin she would have believed that she was traveling with Death.

To their right there was a furtive movement which caused them to falter and stop once again. One of the black shadows shifted and trembled and a cough issued from it, causing the two travelers' blood to run cold. But nothing moved forward, nothing attacked and so they moved on, their footsteps quicker and more anxious to reach their destination even though they did not know what lay there.

They had not taken even ten steps when, as if from nowhere, two jets of red light lit up the early morning navy sky and she let out a cry and dropped to the dirty ground. He fumbled for the wand that he knew was in his left pocket, his fingers trembling and closing in around it just as a black, crouched figure burst forward and grabbed at his ankle. Whatever held him had clamped down on his flesh with superhuman strength but in spite of that his instinct was to protect her – his traveling companion – for he had no one else in the whole, hellish world. Not anymore. Not since Christmas nearly two years before.

"Pansy!"

The cry of her name from his cracked lips sounded pained and broken. The crab-like figure pulled him forward so that he tripped and fell with a cry of surprise. Another dark figure dodged out from the other side, grabbing his pack with a vicious swipe and cutting it open using a quick cutting spell.

He hit the ground with a thud and his breath rushed from him with a whooshing sound so that all he could do in the end was moan. He choked on the dry earth and the metallic taste of his own blood. His head began throbbing a fierce, aching beat.

"Oh, sodding hell..."

Ahead of him, Pansy had scrambled to her feet and was running towards the light, her ripped cloak billowing behind her. As he watched, the crouched figures leapt to their full height, for they were men and not creatures and began to gain on her. She was moving quickly and his eyes widened with horror as she tripped over one of the corpses that littered the lakeside and went down on her face, his name escaping in a startled scream.

'_Draco.'_

He wondered faintly if they were going to die now.

It was early June, three weeks after the fall of the Ministry. The last year in Azkaban had been better than this. This was Hell. This was probably worse than Hell and so he welcomed the idea that even if he died and went there he would have already suffered tortures and damnation greater than what was waiting for him.

'_Draco.'_

His name again and then she was silent, her cry cut off with a terrifying abruptness.

Then they came for him, yanking him to a kneeling position and keeping him from falling over on his face from the dizziness. They were wearing black and so he did not know if they were friend of foe. He knew nothing anymore. Nothing except that his name held no worth any longer; his life, too, was worthless. He knew nothing except that since fleeing London he had found no peace, no respite, and nowhere to call safe.

They yanked on his sleeve, roughly pushing it up to the elbow and turning out his forearm.

"Death Eater," one of them growled, the sound muffled from behind a thick, dirty hood.

In the firelight he saw the glaring Mark of his shame. He was nothing now but a Death Eater, wanted for war crimes against those who were Muggle-born.

Shadowed eyes stared at him as they began to drag him against the roughened, cold ground. He didn't move; he hardly struggled. He no longer cared. His mind was far away, contemplating a woman he had said good-bye to only two years before.

Everything since had seemed like a lifetime of sorrow and pain. He knew now he would not see her again and he was glad she had escaped when she had. At least he had done _something _right.

The sun began to rise as Draco was dragged through the throng of people, all just like him, all rejected and terrified. All Death Eaters.

Light began to fill the sky and Draco looked up at the heavens blearily. The sun began to rise on the first birthday of a son he did not know he had.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione's eyes stirred awake the morning of he son's first birthday. She felt the sun shining through the window by her bed and Leo sleeping to her left as he always did the nights he refused to sleep in his crib. <em>

_It was just as it always was but she felt something fundamentally different. Leo began to fuss and when she couldn't quite open her eyes she heard something shifting next to her and then the warmth at her side was gone._

"_Is my baby boy hungry?"_

_Hermione's heart stopped and her eyes flew open. _

_She saw Draco cradling their son, smiling down at him as he rocked him back and forth the way Neville had done a thousand times in the last year._

"_Is my little Leo hungry?"_

_Again with the cooing in a voice Hermione had never heard and hot tears sprung up into her eyes as she watched Draco lean down to kiss his son. _

_The baby reached for him and Draco smiled. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. She closed her eyes tightly, trying not to get her hopes up. But when she opened them again he was still there, whole and happy, beaming down at his son with a smile Hermione had never seen. _

"_Come on, then. We'll get us some breakfast, won't we? There's probably a bottle or something in the fridge, yeah? That'll be scrummy. We'll leave Mama to sleep…"_

_A moment later, she was alone but Hermione's heart raced violently and her fingers trembled so badly she couldn't quite get the buttons of her ROBE closed. She dashed across the room and flung the door open._

_Draco stood there, smiling down at Leo._

_Leo wasn't a baby anymore, but a little boy now, with white-blond hair and vivid gray eyes identical to that of his father._

"_Look, Mama!" _

_He lifted up a brand new football, waving it around._

"_I'm gonna play, Mama! Daddy's gonna show me how!" _

_Tears of joy glimmered in Hermione's eyes as she dared step forward and reach for Draco, believing that he wasn't really there. But he felt solid against her fingers, his flesh warm and smooth. _

"_D-Draco…"_

_He leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead and she breathed in the familiar scent of him, the cigarettes, the mint, earthy praline that had always clung to him. _

"_I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere."_

_She was crying now, her arms around his bare waist, clinging to him and praying over and over that she never awaken because she had never had such a perfectly wonderful dream. His lips were both firm and soft when they touched her mouth and she felt feelings rushing through her – feelings that only he could provoke within her. _

_Clinging to him, time stopped until there was a terrible crashing behind them. _

"_Confringo!"  
><em>

_Just like the Death Eaters had broken into her flat so long ago in eastern London, they did so again, blasting through the doors of the home she was sharing with Draco and causing Hermione to let out a shrill cry and pull Leo to her side. _

_They wore long black robes with thick hoods and she couldn't see their faces, only that they pulled Draco away from her and Leo and dragged him across the floor, through the rubble and splintered wood shards that were all that remained of the door._

_Hermione watched Draco struggle, his eyes two round, gray saucers full of panic._

"_Hermione!"_

"_Stop!" _

_The man behind the thick hood spoke but his voice was distorted by the thick material. Hermione strained to hear him, trying to remember where she had heard that voice._

"_Draco Malfoy you are sentenced to death for Death Eater war crimes." _

_Draco struggled and Hermione gasped. _

"_You!" she hissed, suddenly dashing forward to pull the heavy hood away from the face of Draco's captor. And just as she had thought he stared back at her with smug, glittering onyx eyes. Marcus Flint. _

"_You can't be here! You're dead!"_

_Still she recalled with vivid horror that snowy morning she had taken Flint's life. The man who should have been dead laughed._

"_Well, I'm not. And it won't be me who is dying today!"_

_He whirled on Draco but Hermione pushed him, leaping between Draco and Flint's outstretched wand, trying not to hear the sound of her son's terrified screams. But when she looked up at Flint she realized he had changed. In his place stood Blaise Zabini, tall and regal in black, sweeping robes._

_The only thing that had not changed was the flat and unforgiving look in his glittering black eyes._

"_Get out of my way. This isn't about you any longer."_

_Hermione stood her ground._

"_He's just like you! Would you punish him for a Mark on his arm that you bear as well! He feels and he cries! He's not like the rest of them, I swear! He's not like them! He's a good, kind man! Don't do this!"_

_Her cries continued unheeded and once again Blaise changed, morphing slowly before her eyes. Her dream had become a nightmare._

"_Move out of the way, Hermione. This is justice; this is what they all deserve."_

_It was Dean's voice now, Hermione realized with horror and shock. He wore a look of unrelenting determination as he glared at Draco._

"_You'll die for all those things you did, Malfoy."_

"_NO!" _

_But they pushed Hermione out of the way and she stumbled to the side, reaching for Draco the entire time. The whole flat was filled with a horrific, green flash of light and then Draco fell into her arms, dead. _

"_NOOO!"_

_Dean and the others turned to Leo, who was wailing with fright._

"_Mama! Mama, help me!"_

_But she couldn't move; she couldn't do anything but watch as they pointed their wands at her innocent son._

"_We'll get rid of this abomination, too!"_

_She didn't recognize their voices now, didn't know who had spoken, which heartless bastard had condemned her little boy to die simply because of who his father had been._

"_Leoooo!"_

_There was another flash of green and it was her son who fell dead this time... The man holding the wand whirled on her, a sneer on his lips._

"_See? See what you get for being a Death Eater's whore? See? Seeeeeeeee?"_

Hermione jolted awake to a clap of terrible thunder and she felt a final, hoarse scream rip from her lips. She was sweating and her flesh was clammy and cold while her eyes were burning. Her heart galloped within her chest so that she thought she would be sick from the terror of it all.

"No…."

She blinked tears of fear out of her eyes to find Neville standing over her bed holding a screaming Leo in his arms.

"Mama cwy! MAMA CWY!"

He was shrieking in terror as Neville shushed him as gently as he could. Hermione fell against her damp pillows limply and she too began to sob, shaking violently at the realization that it had all been just a terrible, horrible nightmare.

"P-please…"

Her request was clear; she wanted to hold her son and Neville acquiesced, handing the little boy to his mother. Hermione held him tightly, kissing his hair, face, neck, cheeks, eyes, whatever part of him she could reach. She buried her face into his soft, auburn curls, shaking with relief and the last cold fingers of terror.

"A dream," she whispered rocking her son. "Just a dream."

Neville was pale. He couldn't understand what she was saying but the echoes of Hermione's terrified screams still resonated within him. He was riveted in place waiting to see what she would have him do.

When Leo was calm, Hermione handed him back to Neville watching as he carried the little boy from the room. When he returned, she wordlessly reached up for him and Neville sank down on the bed, pulling her close. It was the first time he could remember holding her so closely that he could feel the beating of her wild heart and smell the vanilla scent of her soap.

"He's dead," she was whimpering.

Neville began to rock her gently, back and forth…back and forth.

"He's dead."

She felt Neville's gentle fingers run through her unruly, sleep-tossed hair. He was warm and solid against her and she wasn't alone, not anymore. Clinging to him, she tried to stop the flow of tears but managed only to choke on her own sobs as she buried her face against the shelter of his neck. He held her that way for a few moments.

"It was a nightmare, Hermione. No one is dead."

He hoped she wouldn't be able to tell how terribly his heart was beating and the way he trembled while she was in his arms. He thought she just happened to fit perfectly there. For a few moments she sobbed against his shirt but then her tears subsided, soothed away by the gentle words that fell from his lips.

"No more tears. It's Leo's birthday today."

Hermione realized that Neville was right. Another clap of thunder sounded around him as she dared to peek up at him from under her dark lashes.

"You're right."

Her voice was quavering but determined.

_I can't go on like this! I can't keep having these dreams about a man who's no longer in my life!_

And yet she was torn and guilty at even the mere thought of moving on with her life! It wasn't fair! The same old surge of resentment flowed through Hermione as Neville let her go.

"It's pouring out there. I suppose we'll just have to have it inside then," he said staring out of the window with obvious disappointment. "Leo might not be happy about that."

Hermione watched Neville with a mixture of affection and curiosity. No, he would never be Draco, but then again, Neville hadn't disappointed her. And he hadn't abandoned her. And she bloody couldn't wait forever!

"Neville, thank you."

He turned, raising one eyebrow and the look on her face made him blush. She stepped towards him almost shyly, hesitating for a split second before making her decision. When she reached for his hand to pull him closer, he didn't resist. Once more, Hermione rested her cheek against the roughness of his shirt, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat and she didn't pull away when he pressed his lips against her head.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, their relationship had begun to change.


	58. Chapter 58

_The last chapter had the most feedback of this whole story – and I thank YOU for it! I understand the conflict and the disappointment expressed by some of the readers and so I have just a few small comments. Firstly, I wrote this story the way I did to introduce conflict for when Draco returns to Hermione. Her moving on with Neville is not meant to undermine her love for Draco. It doesn't. It's simply Hermione's choice to try and move on as best as she can. Secondly, to the people who sent me the personal messages, thank you so much for doing so even though we clearly do not agree? I fear that directly replying won't do much good, so I thought I'd address the issues publicly. I'd just like to take a moment to gently remind everyone to re-read my initial author's note if you haven't already. That'll clear up any confusion as to where this story is going and which is the endgame pairing. I realize some will not want to read what is coming, but it's only plot, right? I don't plan on changing the direction of what I've written because I love the way it's going right now. I hope that this clears up any questions! There will be Neville/Hermione in this story, albeit I have rewritten some parts to eliminate as much as I can while still keeping true to what my original plot was. Having said that, I'm thrilled that J. K. Rowling gave Neville a happy ending. I'm not sure how that's going to go in this story as I haven't thought much into it really. I'd like to say Neville will be happy but I don't know yet. And now, on with the story!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT<p>

* * *

><p>The wind picked up fiercely and as full morning arrived the torches were extinguished and many of the black forms fled towards the darkened wood to seek shelter and protection from the unknown. They would not go far however, because in some way there was still safety in numbers.<p>

Draco sat beneath a moth-eaten awning, taking the protection that had been grudgingly offered him once they had realized who he was. Pansy sat at his side silently but for the heavy, dry coughing bouts she fell into from time to time. She had been coughing like that for weeks but without proper care there was nothing anyone could do to ease her discomfort.

Though it was wet and the ground uncomfortable, it was better than sitting on the lake shore breathing in the scent of putrefying bodies and so Draco was grateful for at least that. He had been shocked when his captor had pushed back his hood to reveal his face.

Theodore Nott.

Somehow, Draco had expected Theo to have followed Bellatrix Lestrange; he had always been one who wanted to be in the thick of things.

"You defected?" he asked, his brow wrinkling.

Beyond the makeshift awning voices and scurrying could be heard as other Death Eaters sought shelter within the trees. They would spend most of the day hiding.

Theo rolled his eyes, staring off into the distance. His eyes did not see, however.

"Is there such a thing, Malfoy?"

Then he sneered, and his words were drenched in sarcasm.

"Did you defect?"

The two men glanced at one another with mistrust and then Theo spoke once again. His voice was weak and reedy.

"I believed you dead for years."

Draco swallowed his throat still raw from breathing in too much dust.

"Sometimes I believe death would be preferable."

There was a long silence filled with the sound of falling rain against leaves, the sound soothing above the distant rumble of deep thunder. Theo handed Draco and Pansy a dry heel of bread to share. Pansy shook her head and turned away from the offering of dry bread; she hadn't been eating anything for a few days.

Theo then handed Draco a tin of water.

"Don't drink much," he warned. "It's…well, you saw the bodies."

Draco nearly gagged at the thought of drinking water that was contaminated by rotting flesh and he pushed the cup away which caused Theo to let out a snort.

"Right, well…when you get thirsty enough it'll be just as good as any other water, I imagine."

Draco stared at his former colleague and classmate in horror but said nothing knowing that if thirst _did_ make him desperate, he would drink it. Instead, he began to gnaw on the bread hoping to satiate the ravenous hunger within him, if only just a bit. As he ate, Theo said nothing, still staring out into the distance.

The only sound was the steady rainfall and Pansy's dry, hacking cough. Finally, Theo broke the silence, his voice broken.

"So this is how it is."

His arms were resting on top of his knees which he had tucked close to his body and the statement held a helpless finality. Draco's eyes flickered along Theo's hunched form noting that the other man's flesh was dirty and lacerated - covered with scars, dirt and blood.

"He leaves his followers and goes into hiding."

His voice was bitter and resentful as he spoke of Voldemort.

"He promised us so long as we followed him…took his Mark, gave him our loyalty…that he would protect us."

Draco had finished the stale bread and he stared at the cup of sullied water offensively but would not drink even though his throat was dry and aching.

"And he abandoned us, tossing us away to struggle and drown in a war that…"

His uncertain, harried statement faded into the rain and Theo shook his head, dropping it in defeat. There was no need for words; Draco knew that the Ministry was losing the war, no matter what Voldemort thought about it. There was a moment when the rain and wind picked up, making more conversation impossible but then Draco spoke over the sound.

"He never cared about our loyalty. It's a wonder that other still follow him."

Theo gazed at him for a moment.

"You never did care for him, did you?"

It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement. Theo sighed not allowing Draco to reply.

"He's allowed his own sympathizers to die of hunger and thirst! He's left us to fend for ourselves against a growing resistance that's eventually going to crush us! There's not enough Death Eaters, not nearly enough to stand against the Alliance for long and I…"

He trembled a bit and then nodded towards the lake of death in the distance.

"I've watched as they've died of disease and injuries I could not help heal. I've watched as they cried out to God and wept because the pain got to be too much. I've watched them try to cut away the Mark on their flesh, scratching at it, marring it, trying to make it disappear."

The silence that followed found Theo struggling to understand what had happened. Draco found himself looking down at the robe that the other man was wearing, wondering if he had also tried to cut away his own Mark. But he didn't ask.

Theo was speaking once again.

"I never thought…"

"You never thought that we'd eventually be in this place?" Draco finished.

The dark-haired man gazed at him and then straightened his thin shoulders with a weak attempt at dignity.

"I only ever did what I was asked to. I was fighting for what I believed in; we are pureblood!"

"And that makes those who aren't less than human?"

Draco's question lingered in the rain soaked air and an ugly scowl marred Theo's face.

"You _would_ say that. You're just as bad as Zabini. Whatever happened to the Mudblood whore you were running around with? She dead?"

Draco snorted with disgust, warring between ignoring Nott's baiting comments and pummeling him for saying such horrid things about Hermione.

He took a few measured breaths, remembering all he needed was control. He could not lose control and he would not allow a mindless comment to undermine the love he had found with Hermione, no matter her blood status. All that prejudice was behind him now, behind all of them. The war was bigger than anyone had imagined.

After a few moments, Draco spoke, his voice pulled with tension.

"Do you truly still believe that there is a right and wrong side here, Nott? It's not about my personal beliefs nor Zabini's! We made our choices and we'll pay for them, won't we?"

Theo had dropped his head again and he was trembling as he listened to Draco's words.

"For everything in life there's a price. He's ordered us to kill and torture thousands of innocent people and you still believe that we won't pay for that? That all this…hell isn't payment? You're a bloody fool."

Pansy interrupted the conversation with the only thing she had and would say.

"Haven't you already made your choice, Theo? Wouldn't you be with Bella now if you had chosen the Ministry?"

Her violet eyes shone in the shadowy darkness of the secluded wood.

"We had that choice too and we ran."

She stopped speaking, breaking into another fit of coughing. Theo sat up straighter his fists tightening in uncontrollable anger.

"Voldemort made fools of us! The Ministry fell and he ran away! I won't stand by a coward no matter how I feel about this war!"

A flash of lighting illuminated the iron gray sky followed by an insistent rumble of thunder. The wind picked up furiously for a few moments before dying down once more. The rain increased, soaking them to the bone. Draco watched rivulets of water running down the sides of their enclosure and sighed.

"So where do you go from here? How long have you…been like this?"

Theo turned away, shifting to try and stay as dry as possible.

"We've been running for nearly a month now," he snapped bitterly. "Bella will mount any attack she can; we are as worthless now as the Alliance."

A leaden feeling settled in the pit of Draco's stomach.

"And the Alliance?"

The fear was evident in Theo's eyes as he searched Draco's face before letting out a snort.

"You haven't heard about Zabini, have you? Haven't seen?"

"What?"

"He executes all captured Death Eaters for war crimes against the Alliance. He's managed to capture and murder every higher ranking official but Fenrir and I…and apparently you."

Draco's mouth had gone dry.

"He's a friend."

"He's _no one's_ friend. You said it yourself, Malfoy. There's no right or wrong anymore, is there? Zabini's a madman. He doesn't even know who we are anymore; he's forgotten where he's come from! We might be guilty of great sins but his side, that Alliance…it is no better!"

Draco sat back against the tree, feeling the cold drops of rain running incessantly down his neck and shoulders.

No, it wasn't true. Theodore Nott did not know Blaise the way Draco did, that was all. He didn't know that Blaise had a decent, moderate head on his shoulders and he had never once relished taking a life unless it was out of necessity.

"He's a reasonable man, Nott."

There was a silence and then Theo laughed, though the sound held no mirth.

"And you were calling _me _a fool," he scoffed.

The blond man set his jaw.

"I know him."

The tension was palpable and when Theo spoke again his voice was weak.

"You don't know; you haven't seen what's…how he's changed. He's given no mercy even though people beg for it on their knees."

"Just like we gave no mercy to all those we killed!"

"Who's side are you on, anyway?"

The two men glared at each other the tension growing between them.

Finally, Draco relented sitting back and looking at the wet dirt beneath his worn and beaten boots.

He didn't have to consider that question; he knew he was on Hermione's side, whatever that was. The war didn't matter so much as being with her, if ever he be given the chance. He thought back to the way Zabini had vowed to protect Lavender from anyone who might try to hurt her. His love had seemed the kind that only existed in fiction but then again…

What was he doing now? Still defending her honor? Trying to wipe out everyone who could ever hurt her? It seemed like insanity but neither did Draco believe that Nott would lie.

"We should talk to him," he said calmly, the words spoken with strength and direction.

Theo snorted.

"I'd rather live, thank you. He won't listen."

"He has no choice. We were mates. He won't turn on me."

"You think."

"I _know."_

For a few moments, all that could be heard was the distant thunder and the rush of rain.

"What choice do we have, Nott? Do you want to run from him forever?"

"There's no choice but death."

"Then why not try to live? Where can I find him?"

Theo struggled to his weary feet, turning in a complete circle and then nodding towards the western horizon.

"That way. We were running from him in retreat. If we move that way, we'll find him."

He glanced down, shaking his head.

"Don't expect anyone to do this with you, Malfoy."

Draco got up.

"I don't."

* * *

><p>At the end of the summer, Neville surprised Hermione with a promotion within the Clinic. She was able to move out of Luna's flat and into a row house near Neville's own home. Even though the place was tiny and it needed work, Hermione realized that it was <em>her own.<em>

No one had bought it for her; she owned her own property now.

Though the war raged on as the Alliance refocused their efforts on finding Voldemort and ending everything once and for all, in the cities and away from the fighting, people tried to live life as best as they could.

Hermione split her time between the Clinic and the WERA. She worked long hours and way into the night alongside Neville, not only for the money but also because there seemed to be a never ending line of poor human souls that needed help and healing.

During this time, the WERA had purchased several warehouse buildings to store supplies, medicines and dry goods for those who were going into battle. Blaise had ordered funding through the city and the citizens who were sympathetic and opposed to Ministry control. There was more than enough money to be had and with that money he ensured that those fighting for the Alliance had the food and medicines they needed to stay focused and strong while those fighting for the Ministry struggled with hunger, illness and exhaustion.

Hermione, because she was logical and possessed fantastic organization skills, was able to secure a position in managing these storage warehouses and making sure that those coming and going with deliveries knew where to drop off and how much and where the pick up. Her work with the WERA also allowed her and Leo to see Ginny and Seamus more often, and not only them, but the others, too. She would travel between locations finally able to reunite with the Potter children the way she had hoped to do two years before.

She was too busy to think much about what was going on besides her task at hand but at night when she was alone and Leo was asleep she wondered where Draco was, hoping that somewhere, he was still alive.

_I might never see him again, but please let him be alive in the world somewhere!_

Leo continued to grow swiftly and change each day, much to Hermione's amazement. She loved him in a way she had never believed possible and as he grew he began to resemble his father more and more. Sometimes Hermione wondered if her companions and those in the WERA would ever make the connection.

Ginny, Neville and Luna remained true to their promises that they would never speak of who Leo's father really was, letting the others in the WERA believe what they wanted. In that way, Hermione's relationship with Draco was her secret to keep.

Hermione was also beginning to understand what Draco had meant that long-ago winter day on the way to St. David. She hadn't wanted to see it but as the weeks passed attitudes within the wizarding world were starting to change. Death Eaters were no longer feared as much as they were looked down upon and sometimes even considered abominations. There were nights that Hermione was roused from sleep by screaming and yelling in the distant neighborhoods only to find out in the morning that there had been a Death Eater or two drawn out of hiding and executed in front of crowds screaming for blood and justice.

_It's about vengeance. It's about paying them back for what they've done? When will this stop?_

And still she thought of Draco, hoping that he had somehow survived not only the escalating war but the prejudice.

* * *

><p>One afternoon, only days after her promotion within the Clinic, Hermione met Ginny in downtown Cardiff to pick up a delivery from London.<p>

Spending time with Ginny was still often uncomfortable but the two women were working through issues slowly for the sake of family and their children. After grabbing a bit to eat at a corner pub, they made their way onto the street towards the warehouse near the river on the east side of the city. Hermione spotted the poor creature first, stopping in mid-stride so that Ginny nearly bowled into her.

"Hermione, what's the-"

Ginny fell silent as her eyes traveled to the small group that had conglomerated on a corner only a block from where she and Ginny stood.

She was a young woman, although not a child and she was being pushed and shoved between the others that had surrounded her. Although they were too far away to hear the jeers that came from the crowd of people surrounding her, Hermione felt a poignant sympathy towards the unknown girl for she saw herself in the cowering form, the trembling hands and the way she was trying to protect herself from the blows and shoving.

Ginny nudged her.

"Let's go," she muttered from behind Hermione but the brunette was riveted, her eyes wide and suddenly watering from the rush of emotions that overwhelmed her.

Without turning to see if Ginny would follow, she moved towards the crowd.

"Whore!"

"Amoral cow!"

"To sleep with one of them? Death Eaters? Lower than the low?"

They were deriding her and each time they spoke one of them would give her a kick. Up close, Hermione could see the woman's terror and the tears that ran down her face as she tried to ward off the blows.

"You're nothing but a Death Eater's whore, aren't you? Sleeping with one of them to protect yourself! You disgusting pig!"

Ginny pulled insistently on Hermione's sleeve but the other woman could not get her feet to move as she watched the poor girl in the middle of the crowd.

_She's just like I was!_

Horrified, Hermione broke out of her stupor as one of the men spit upon the helpless, frightened woman. She turned, gripping Ginny's hand.

"They shouldn't condemn her for what she had to do!" she whispered, choking on the sudden bile that had risen up into her throat. "Don't they know? Wouldn't they understand! Surely…surely they know what she's been through!"

Ginny tried to calm Hermione but it seemed a futile effort as the curly-haired brunette repeatedly pulled away from Ginny to try and get closer to the crowd. The red-head followed helplessly, flashes of her time at the alienage assaulting her. Hermione had always been the one to help people, even when it had been hopeless. It was her nature.

As Hermione studied the crowd she realized that not one of them bore the Mark. These weren't Death Eaters; they were her own people! They were people condemning one of their own for things she had done during the most desperate times of her life! White-hot rage filled the pit of Hermione's belly and resonated through every inch of her so within seconds she was trembling with it.

"They're hateful!" she spat from behind tightly clenched teeth and her trembling fingers closed into fists.

"Hermione-"

"To condemn one of their own?" she said, her tone rising with her agitation.

Once more Ginny tried to soothe the raging woman at her side and Hermione began to have trouble breathing, taking in huge breaths that made her dizzy. No matter how she tried, however, it was as if her lungs could not get enough air and she began to gasp.

"One of their own!" she repeated, the sound choked.

Ginny put her arm around Hermione, her face drawn with tension as she looked from the angry crowd to her broken and bewildered friend.

"Come on, Hermione. We should go. This isn't good."

"No, we can't just let her be abused like that!" she cried out pulling away from Ginny and then moving towards the crowed without hesitation.

"_**STOP**__!_"

The sound made them turn, all angry, confused faces.

"Don't be sticking your nose were it doesn't belong, girl!"

Hermione wasn't even sure who had spoken for her heart was pounding in her ears so loudly it blocked out all other sound. She only knew that the poor girl had stopped and scurried into a dirty corner when her abusers had stopped attacking her.

"I won't stand by and watch as you tear a poor girl apart for something she couldn't help!"

They sneered at her.

"And what do you know? She lay with a Death Eater! She slept with the vile enemy! She's not one of us!"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror but she was determined to remain strong in her convictions and to not think about her own past. She would never be sorry for the things she had done.

"Won't you let the past go?"

"It's because of them that we're fighting this war!" someone else called out.

There was a resonating agreement that ran through the crowd that was now entirely focused on the small brunette who stuck out her chin with determination.

"And none of you are helping things by fighting amongst yourselves! She is one of our own!"

"She's an abomination! Nothing but a whore!"

Hermione's face flushed crimson.

"She's no less human than you! How dare any of you judge her?" she cried out, stepping into the crowd to separate them from the cowering woman. "Leave now or I'll call law enforcement."

One of the men at the head of the crowd laughed at her.

"You can't do that, love. This is a _peaceful protest_," he drawled.

A woman stepped up next to him.

"That's right; it's a peaceful protest to rid the streets of our city from nasty _vermin_."

Hurt and increasingly bewildered at the callousness of the people around her, Hermione struggled not to attack the people around her, to claw their eyes out in her frustration, even though it was difficult. Fingers of pain from her past enveloped her heart, squeezing tightly. She had been in the same position two years before, only then, no one had publicly condemned her for it. It was bad enough having to deal with Death Eaters, let alone the condemnation of those just like her!

Hermione didn't know what to do, only that it wasn't fair! How could people be so cruel? Hadn't they learned anything? Taking deep breaths, she turned, trying to find Ginny in the crowd and spotted her standing on the fray just as Seamus pushed his way into the throng.

"Sure you heard her, didn't ya?"

His voice broke over the angry din making some spin around to look at the newcomer. He was standing straight and tall, glaring at everyone, his cheeks flushed.

"Get on with ya! Dontcha be havin' more productive things to do?"

"Call law enforcement, my arse!" yelled an older man in the crowd. "Leave us alone to do what we have to do!"

Hermione recognized him as the owner of the pawn shop she had sold her wedding ring and necklace at. At least she knew now she would no longer patronize such an establishment. Seamus grew more passionate.

"If I were mad I would!"

"Bugger off!"

"I'm not joking, to be sure!"

"I'll be going to the Ministry about this, see if I don't! I won't have some Irishman telling me what I can and cannot do on my own streets!"

Seamus waved his arm.

"Go then, tell your Ministry!" he spat. "I hate the Death Eaters just as much as you do but that's no reason to go after an innocent woman!"

The crowd dispersed though not before offering the unnamed woman a few more swift kicks and jeers. When it was quiet, Hermione rushed to the woman's side but she, being horrified, pushed her away and dashed into the shadowy alley and disappeared, leaving Hermione shocked and drained of all emotion.

She didn't even remember the rest of the walk home.

* * *

><p>Dinner later that evening was a tense, awkward affair. Ginny and Seamus were troubled by what had happened earlier and Hermione had retreated further from her friends and family than she had ever done since coming to Cardiff. It left Dean, Neville and some of the others from the WERA a bit uncomfortable as they all tried to enjoy a supper around the huge table.<p>

Luna's twins, Ginny's three children and Leo's laughter were the only things that helped to ease the heaviness that lay between the adults at the table. Ginny's children, even James, were mostly unaware of the changes that were happening all around them. And Leo was still only a baby; he was innocence personified.

It was this, her son, which Hermione clung to. She couldn't look at the others in the room, afraid that Seamus might discover all her secrets simply by gazing at her. After all, he knew about her working for Draco, didn't he? He didn't know that sex had been involved but she wondered how he would react if he knew. Would he be any better than those people on the streets? Would she be condemned for the things she had been forced to do in her desperation?

"Dis," said Leo picking up a small quarter of potato and bringing it up to Hermione's mouth. "Ummy."

Hermione offered Leo a weak smile and took the potato, making a show of eating it with enthusiasm. Her little boy's gray eyes sparkled with happiness and then he shakily speared a carrot onto his fork.

"Dis?"

She laughed and glanced up at the others at the table.

"He's eating by himself?"

Neville seemed to relax when the silence was broken and he grinned with pride.

"We've been practicing for days now. He's getting quite good. Aren't you?" he said glancing down at Leo who beamed a huge, proud smile.

"I eat, Nevow!" he said, calling Neville by name.

The others melted at the baby's actions and the tension seemed to abate a bit.

It did not last however, for Dean brought up the war – the one subject Hermione had begun to loathe. He had just returned from the fighting once again to pick up a shipment of supplies from the eastern storehouse.

"She's bloody relentless! We've lost at least a hundred this month, no less than two dozen to the killing curse."

As Hermione fed her son she carefully refused to look at those engaged in talk of war. They were speaking of the brutal battles between Bellatrix and Blaise Zabini.

"And I keep telling Zabini that there are just not enough of us and we should lay low for awhile, at least until…"

"I've got extra beds now and plenty of people to help," Neville was saying.

"Still, its bloody sick of fighting I am."

Seamus' statement rendered in a silence that was filled with Leo's babbling and the children's chatter and giggles. Soon enough someone started up once again about how the war would never have been going on if not for the Death Eaters. And then Hermione grew tenser and tenser as Dean's conversation shifted towards how none of those with the Mark deserved to live and that Zabini's belief in eradication seemed the right way to go.

Hermione finally snapped.

"If you all cared so much for ending this war, none of you would be speaking like this!"

Dean stared, his dark brows furrowing.

"You're joking, aren't you, Hermione?"

Her face had gone pale and her eyes glittered menacingly.

"You think I am?"

She sat up straighter.

"Listen to yourself, Dean! What happened to you? What happened to compassion? The disgusting display of hatred I witnessed today makes me realize that none of you know what it's like to feel the way I've felt!"

She stared at the group in front of her even the children having gone silent, as if knowing that the situation had gone dire. Seamus was the first to respond.

"We're fighting for you, we are. You should know that. They won't be stoppin' until we're dead, Hermione. Sure, can't let them do that!"

Hermione could feel the disbelief and disappointment in his voice but Dean was not nearly as subtle.

"I realize what you've gone through but shouldn't you be more grateful? It's only because of the WERA, because of Zabini that we're where we are! The Muggle-borns and half-bloods have gotten their wands back! We're winning the war! Why show compassion to those who showed you none for so long?"

Hermione stared, stricken for a moment before she realized that the others didn't know the secret she was hiding. Would they understand that the only reason she was with them was because of a man whom they were so quick to condemn? Would they understand how she loved him and how her son was a product of that love? It terrified Hermione; it was the first time she had been truly scared in a long time. When she gazed into the faces of those closest to her she didn't see anything but stubbornness and frustration.

"Because they're human beings!" she shot back defensively. "Shall we punish them all because of one deranged man?"

Dean offered a sound of disgust, pushing his plate away.

"I can't believe you'd say that. After everything they've put you through! What about that disgusting alienage? What about Pansy Parkinson and the things she did to you?"

Hermione winced. Would they mock her if she told them that Pansy had been forgiven years ago? The same woman who had tried to kill her had also saved her. Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded.

"I haven't forgotten, Dean," she replied in a calm tone, her eyes hot and dry. "But I've also forgiven her. It's the only way."

They others in the room stared at her. Ginny and Neville, who knew the truth, were staring down into their laps. The tension was so think it could have been cut with a knife.

Dean finally broke it.

"It's all well and good that you've done that, Hermione. But not everyone will. You'll come to find that sometimes forgiveness is hard. Sometimes it's damn near impossible."

Then he walked away from the table stiffly, leaving the others behind.

Hermione didn't realize it, but Dean's words were the premonition of a bleak and difficult future. She scooped Leo into her arms and then excused herself, needing to be alone. Quickly, she moved towards the front door of the flat, taking the steps almost two at a time until she burst into the darkened courtyard, breathing in gulps of early autumn air.

As she glanced up at the star-studded sky she realized that she was still very much alone.


	59. Chapter 59

_Your continued support means the world to me. Thanks everyone! I appreciate those who will read in spite of not liking every bit of the plot. I'm glad you're still with me. In this chapter Draco meets with Blaise and Hermione begins to move on with her life. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE<p>

* * *

><p>War is brutal. It is self-sufficient. It continues on long after the hills are blanketed in heavy darkness and the valleys are damp and crimson with blood. It does not offer mercy or compassion and it is always prejudiced, blind and selfish. Long after death reigns over the land, war continues so long as there are those willing to fight.<p>

The morning Draco finally faced Blaise was bitterly cold, a frost having settled over the flatland where bodies were frozen against the cold hard ground. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon to melt the glittering frost. The scene was a frozen portrait of devastation. Draco was all alone, the others having left him bit by bit. Some were terrified of Blaise. Others had deemed Draco insane for trying to reason with a madman. There were a few who had died along the way from disease and hunger for there was no more food and water. Even Theo had given up; he had wished Draco luck and disappeared into the wood that had flanked their left side. Only Pansy, always devoted, had remained but even she had succumbed to the lack of food and the bitterly cold nights that had weakened her already sick body to the point that she could no longer move. Draco had decided that it was for the better, _if_ what Theo had said about Blaise was actually true.

For days there was nothing but abandoned battlefields and empty, flat horizons but on the fourteenth day Draco saw tents dotting the morning horizon and he knew he had reached his destination, for better or worse.

* * *

><p>Blaise saw the glow coming from the tiny box that he kept amidst his meager personal belongings. There was not much next to his bedroll apart from a change of clothing, his wand and the small, wooden lockbox. Within it he kept only several items – his wedding ring which he never wore during battle, a photograph of his family and the small galleon that had once been used as the main form of communication between himself, Malfoy and the WERA.<p>

For endless months, Blaise's focus had been the war. How to stop the Ministry. How to make all of them pay for the way they had treated Lavender. To hurt them the way they had hurt everyone else. There had been nothing else for Blaise, no other focus. It would have been enough to make any other man go mad.

But he was not just any other man.

And he wasn't insane, no matter what others said. He was only doing what he was destined to do.

Blaise had traveled up and down the border between England and Wales with determination that if any of them try to get past him and his lines of defense that they would die. He had promised the Alliance that he would do everything in his power to stop them and he had not lied. He knew himself to be fiercely loyal and he had shown this to the Alliance by keeping his promise.

The Ministry had not made headway into Wales in spite of their greatest efforts to do so. Blaise was serving his purpose but more than that, he was fulfilling his own personal desires.

_They will all pay._

Unbeknownst to him, the war between the Ministry and the Alliance had long ago become much too personal for Blaise. He had lost focus and direction even though he did not see it as such.

So when the tiny, gold galleon began to glow, his dark brow furrowed for he realized that the others in the WERA still existed even though he had long ago stopped thinking about them.

_What could they possibly want?_

He was standing in front of his lockbox and picked up the coin with a mild if not irritated curiosity. But what he saw shocked him. It was a message from Malfoy. A flicker of emotion lit up Blaise's dark features for a split second before it died again but an uncomfortable ache had begun in the pit of his stomach – one that he desperately wanted to squelch.

_Isn't he dead?_

The coin was glowing brightly the message appearing slowly, letter by letter.

_I need to talk to you. I am on my way, coming from the south. _

Blaise stared at the glowing words with a sort of unattached curiosity knowing only one thing clearly. Malfoy _should_ have been dead. The fighting had been fierce and the bodies of Death Eaters too numerous to count.

_I've spared no one._

It was odd then, that the ache in his belly was spreading and the feeling it resonated was much like guilt, though Blaise hadn't felt guilt in years. His mind began to wander even though he knew that was dangerous. He hadn't thought about anything in a long time, let alone the things he had done to get to where he was.

_Rabastan had deserved to die. He would have killed my Daisy._

But the others?

_The first few captured had been examples to the Death Eaters that they weren't in control anymore._

Then what of the ones that followed?

Blaise swallowed his throat suddenly dry and he loathed the feeling that washed over him.

_I have done nothing but deliver justice! They deserve to die! _

Did they? There had been too many to count, too many that pleaded for their lives, too many that had nothing to do with-

_No. That's my conscience speaking but I must remain focused! I won't let my weaknesses rule my decision. The Death Eaters must die._

Then what of Malfoy?

_I told him to make a choice. And he chose the Ministry. _

Blaise blinked. He thought of the Granger girl and wondered exactly _what_ Malfoy had chosen.

_We used to be the same. Not anymore._

The flap of his tent was pushed aside.

"Commander, shall we set off?"

Blaise turned to the messenger that stood at the ready for his command. He was tempted to move forward, away from Malfoy, to ignore his message. Instead, he shook his head.

"No. We stay here. I have a visitor coming. We will move on afterwards."

"A visitor?"

"I will see him alone."

"Very well."

* * *

><p>The two men met as the sun rose in the glorious sky, melting away the frost that glittered all around them.<p>

Draco saw Blaise approaching, walking slowly but with purpose, his back straight and his wand aloft. He reached for his own in the depths of his tattered, dirty robes because something about the other man's stature ordered him to be ready.

"Malfoy."

The greeting was suspicious, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction.

"Zabini."

Draco's own was spoken carefully.

There was a long silence as light continued to rise above them in the gray sky. It was Blaise that broke the quiet.

"I thought you dead."

"Indeed, many did."

"But clearly, you are not."

"No."

Blaise cocked his head and Draco felt himself being studied closely. Strangely, he had a sudden recollection about his years at Hogwarts, in Care of Magical Creatures, watching the blast-ended skrewts with distaste. That's how he felt, anyway.

"Where have you been?"

Draco's eyes narrowed in a calculated fashion.

"You mean to ask why I am not dead."

Blaise laughed but the sound was cold.

"You're quite right, actually."

Draco swallowed, hiding his growing unease.

"I have been in Azkaban."

Blaise offered a nearly imperceptible nod. He lowered his wand but his posture did not relax any.

"For?"

Draco studied Blaise for a moment or two before replying.

"Aiding and abetting the escape of a Muggle-born."

Something flickered in the depths of Blaise's black eyes.

"And for that you found yourself in Azkaban? If you managed the escape, how could they possibly have caught you?"

Draco swallowed past the thickness in his throat noting that one corner of Blaise's mouth began to twitch.

"I turned myself in."

The tic continued.

"Did you?"

"There was no other choice."

"Or perhaps you are lying to me. Could it be that you returned to the Ministry because in spite of your love for that Muggle-born, your loyalties lie with Voldemort?"

Draco felt a ghostly anvil burden his soul.

"I returned to the Ministry because had I gone with her, they would have found me. I did it to protect her."

The words were calm and measured and Blaise seemed to be considering them with some length though Draco noted that the black man's fingers had begun to twitch erratically.

"They have not caught _me_."

"Then you should count your blessings, mate."

Blaise offered Draco a scathing look.

"Had you not been so cowardly and escaped with her we would have been fighting this war along side one another! You would be fighting for my cause!"

"How do you know that?"

Zabini's lip twitched erratically and for a moment he looked lost and uncertain before the wall of determination fell over him once again. His face grew worn and grim.

"T-there is no other…you are with me or you are against me. And those against me are no longer living."

Draco's lips whitened as he pressed them together before taking a breath.

"What kind of cause sees dozens upon dozens of men and women dead at your behest, Zabini?"

Zabini's lips turned down into an ugly scowl.

"Not men and women, Malfoy. Death Eaters."

"Indeed. Death Eaters just like _you."_

In a swift and violent move, Zabini raised his wand to point it at Draco.

"Do not dare to speak of what I was," he whispered, his eyes narrowed into tiny, glittering slits.

"What you _still_ are, Zabini. What you still are. What we _all_ are and what we are paying for being."

Blaise began to shake his head, the cool demeanor gone just like the frost on the ground.

"No, no. You're wrong. I will never be _that _again, Malfoy. Never, ever, ever again."

As he shook his head, Draco pushed up the sleeve of his robe to show Zabini the glaring Dark Mark. He pressed his finger against it emphatically as he spoke, hating himself for ever having taken the Mark, for ever having believed in Voldemort's ideals. His eyes watered with frustration.

"_This_, Zabini. This is what defines us. _This_ is what we will be paying for the rest of our lives, war or no war. _This_."

Blaise gazed down at the Mark and then shook his head over and over again as if that single repetitive movement would make it all go away.

"Not me, Malfoy. Not me. Not me."

Draco watched with fascination and horror as Blaise pushed up his own long sleeve to reveal his forearm where the Mark had been scratched and burned off, leaving behind an angry, red scar still obviously sensitive and bloody.

"Are you mad, Zabini? Do you think an attempt at removing that Mark will clean you of all guilt?" he whispered in disgust, staring at the unsightly mess on Blaise's forearm. "That it gives you the right to do what you're doing now?"

Blaise looked up at Draco with strange, bright eyes.

"The Mark is gone! I am doing the right thing! I am eradicating the wizarding world of the stain that is the Dark Mark! Justice is being served one person at a time!"

Draco stepped back, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Are you that blind? Do you not see what you're doing?"

Blaise looked at Draco with a blank, emotionless expression.

"The right thing, I think. The right thing. Defending my family. Fighting for equality."

"Murdering those who are begging you to spare them! You can't possibly believe that is going to help end this war!"

Blaise's face was a mask of nothingness.

"If we eradicate one side it will!"

Draco let out a wheezy sound.

"You're just like him, don't you see? Like Voldemort! Like the man you claim to hate!"

The whisper died on the still morning air. For a few seconds, Draco was rooted to the spot unable to breathe, to think and to speak. He watched Blaise launch himself forward like in some horrid slow-motion and raise his wand. The jet of light exploded from the tip, and Draco threw himself forward to avoid getting hit. He collided with the ground hard, rolling forward to try to knock Blaise out of balance.

Blaise lost his footing and also fell forward so that in the end both men lay on the cold, hard ground, adding to the painting of death around them. They watched each other then, breathing heavily, their eyes snapping as if they were two feral wolves and not merely men.

Draco winced at the pain in his side where he had hit the ground as he spoke.

"You have to give us a chance, Blaise. Voldemort has abandoned those that followed him. We're floundering out there alone and we want to help!"

Blaise stared at Draco as if he had seen something truly terrifying.

"You mean, Theodore Nott and all those who travel with him?" he sneered. "They're not on my side!"

Draco thought quickly, wondering if perhaps Theo had been right the entire time and that there would be no way to get through to the madman that had taken the place of his once good mate.

"Look," he said emphatically. "They have the same goal, they no longer support Voldemort. Join forces with them and you'll be stronger than before. Surely, together we can find Voldemort and end this once and for all!"

Blaise was silent but he lowered his wand, a look of calculation twisting his features.

"Prove it," he said.

Draco gaped.

"How?"

"Where is Voldemort? Give me his location and I spare you. Perhaps I spare Nott and his weak group of followers."

Draco took in a painful breath.

"I'd tell you if I knew."

Blaise's features darkened.

"What of Bella? She'd know where Voldemort was. She's not with him but I'd bet my last galleon…"

Then his features lit up.

"That cow, Parkinson. Is she dead?"

There was a gleam in Blaise's eyes that made Draco leery of speaking another word. Pansy had saved him, after all. He owned her much more than any man would be capable of repaying but at least he could offer her loyalty. The truth was that Pansy probably knew more about Bellatrix Lestrange than any other Ministry official and Blaise knew that.

_If there was a chance that giving up the information would ensure that Blaise stop coming after the Ministry she would do it._

But Draco found he could not so easily put Pansy's life in the hands of a very unstable Blaise. He spoke carefully.

"What if she were?"

Blaise was silent, thinking about this and Draco took another pained breath. The morning around them had dawned in its entire glory although new storm clouds were swirling on the distant horizon.

Quickly, Draco leapt to his feet, brandishing his wand at Blaise who remained prostrate on the ground grinning strangely up at Draco.

"You would threaten me? Do you not know I have power over you that you haven't even begun to imagine?"

Draco sneered.

"You have no power over me."

"I've heard those words spoken from the lips of dead men," replied Blaise.

There was a long silence interrupted by the distant rumbling of thunder which heralded the coming new storm. Feeling helpless, Draco swallowed past his disgust.

"If you promise not to hurt her, I'll take you to Pansy."

Blaise offered a smile that was not truly a smile.

* * *

><p>Hermione was laughing. The sound melted into the cacophony of noises around her – the clinking of glasses, the clatter of forks and knives against fine china and the buzz of conversation going on at the linen-covered tables around her.<p>

"And you should have seen the look on Lysander's face!" she exclaimed with an affectionate head shake. "I think they underestimate Leo just because he's only a year old."

She was smiling now and her cheeks were flushed rosy with color and the glass of wine she had consumed. She was wearing a proper black evening dress, the first fancy dress she had worn since the Lestrange's anniversary party a few years before. The glorious red dress that Hermione had believed existed only in fairy tales. That time was over though and she never wanted to wear a red dress again. Oddly enough the idea made her heart hurt.

So she had chosen black, something understated and simple that matched the black pumps that Ginny had let her borrow. A classic up do and simple earrings had completed her look even though her rat's nest head of hair stubbornly refused to do what she wanted it to do, as usual. She had realized that evening as she had sat in front of her tiny vanity that the way she looked _mattered _to her because she _cared_ what Neville thought.

Neville. Of all people, it was Neville.

Hermione had known, of course, how he felt about her. He was an honest, simple man and his feelings were always painted in the depths of his brown eyes. Only a fool would have missed the way he gazed on her with such devotion. The idea of moving on had been completely revolting to Hermione at first. The thought that someone else might care for her, hold her hand, touch her affectionately had seemed utterly impossible.

But wasn't that what Draco had wanted? Hadn't he left her so that she would have freedom, a better life?

Neville was a good man, humble and hardworking. He was willing to understand and even more willing to listen. He hadn't judged her like some of the others. But most importantly, he made Hermione feel wanted and cared for and Leo adored him. In her darkest hours, right after Leo's birth, Hermione had wondered if she could raise the tiny baby by herself, praying desperately that a man come along to help her. The feelings had seemed wrong, blasphemous somehow, because beautiful Leo already had a father – and a great one at that. But now the possibility that she might not be alone was within reach.

It wasn't Neville's fault, after all, that he had come along when he had. He had simply been Hermione's friend, someone she could lean on and learn to trust in. Feelings had come after, certainly. And it wasn't Hermione's fault that Neville was so kind, so gentle, and so…hopeful. And so wonderful with her son.

_How can I deny Leo a father and myself a future? _

The whole thing seemed to be an impossible dream, really.

Neville had arrived at Hermione's flat only three hours before, wearing a smile and his cheeks flushed pink from nervousness. He had been clutching the most beautiful flower Hermione had ever seen – a pink and white rose – which he had grown in his personal greenhouse. He had looked dashing in his own way – wearing black trousers, a starched white shirt, a handsome waistcoat and a deep green necktie. He had clearly taken time with his appearance and much to Hermione's shock she had felt warmth fill her at the sight of him on her stoop.

He had bashfully handed her the flower and proceeded to trip rather awkwardly on her top step which had broken the ice between them, making Hermione laugh in spite of her uncertainty as to where their relationship was going.

Then Neville had helped her with her woolen coat and held her hand in gentlemanly fashion as they had apparated downtown to the restaurant that he had painstakingly chosen (unbeknownst to Hermione).

They had spent many afternoons together before, but she knew that this night was different. Neville had mad sure of that and it made Hermione look forward to the future. And that's how they had found themselves sitting at the fancy table and laughing about Leo and Luna's twins.

Hermione's laugh melted into a fond smile.

"I can't believe he's mine sometimes," she marveled. "He's brilliant."

"He's quite the little boy," Neville agreed, his brown eyes shining. "And he's brilliant just like his mother."

The smile faltered just slightly.

_And his father._

But Hermione said nothing, swallowing down a twinge of pain and beaming a smile towards Neville as she removed the napkin she had placed on her lap during the meal. She held his gaze for a few moments and then looked down, flustered and unsure of what to say or do. She didn't want to think of the past; she didn't want to mar the lovely evening Neville had provided the both of them. When she glanced back up she felt almost…shy. There wasn't a reason in the world for it. Neville was her best friend; he was even more than that, she was certain.

"I'm sorry," she began with hesitation. "I keep talking about…well, certainly there are things you'd rather chat about besides my son?" she finally said.

Neville nodded towards the cart of luscious looking desserts that was rolling towards them.

"How about dessert?" he joked as Hermione's eyes lit up at the glorious display of sweets. Once she had chosen what she wanted, Neville grew a bit more serious.

"The truth is everything you do and everything you are matters to me, Hermione."

Her fork stopped still above the clotted cream that covered her chocolate pastry. She looked up at him a rush of affection washing over her like a wave.

"Really?"

Their hands lay in the middle of the linen covered table, fingers brushing.

"You know it's true," replied Neville, his face blooming with new color. "I can't imagine that I hide my feelings very well."

Hermione offered him a smile and then put her hand in his, running her thumb along his.

"I had an inkling," she admitted making Neville grin a bit. There was a bit of a pause and then he dared to look up at her.

"So…?"

Hermione smiled.

"So…"

Neville took the leap, biting his lip for a moment.

"Look, Hermione. I'm not asking for much. I know how you felt before, and I know that you loved…him."

A frisson of ice washed over her, making Hermione shiver a bit.

"He's my past," she whispered. "I held onto it with hope for a long time, it's true."

"I know. That's why I can't expect more than you're willing to offer. Which means I'm happy if you choose to spend time with me or if you tell me now that…that you need more time. I'll give you the time you want. I'll give you ages, if that's what you ask for."

Hermione felt herself growing warm, her cheeks hot with color.

"I couldn't ask you for ages, Neville. That wouldn't be fair to anyone."

He leaned across the table every ounce of his feelings for the woman across from him evident in the honesty of his face.

"I know what I feel. If it takes time for you to understand that, I'm willing to wait."

She felt her eyes watering and then smiled at him.

"I can't truly believe I'm worth that," she said with a small, shameful laugh.

Neville reached to stroke her cheek for the briefest of moments, his fingers soft against her skin. Hermione wanted to close her eyes and lean into the caress; she had missed this sort of touch too much, she realized.

"I guess I can't really make you believe that but I'm sure going to bloody try."

This made her laugh and Neville squeezed her fingers firmly in his hand, not letting go.

"Dance with me," he suggested.

Hermione allowed him to help her to her feet and found herself pressed against him as they moved a bit clumsily on the dance floor. This wasn't the way she had danced with Draco; this wasn't like being with Draco at all.

_But that's the point. It's time to move on, isn't it? He would want me to. He wanted me to be happy._

Realizing that thinking about Draco would no longer do, Hermione looked up at Neville in the dimness of the dance floor.

"Next time we do this, I'll cook for you," she suggested with a small smile. He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought the food her was rather delicious myself."

"It was," she said her grin widening. "But my mother always said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Neville's smile would have outshined the sun itself.

"Hermione, if you didn't know it already, you don't need to cook me dinner to win my heart. You already have it."

There was a moment in which the two stopped moving and her heart began to pound a bit unsteadily within her chest. She closed her eyes just as he leaned down to close the distance between them. Their lips touched in a gentle first kiss.

And so it began.

* * *

><p>The rain had begun to fall steadily by the time Draco led Blaise to the thickly wooded area where Pansy had taken shelter. The scent of rain worked to wash away that of the lingering corruption but not even the earthy, musky scent of fresh rainfall could entirely erase the scent of death.<p>

Pansy lay where Draco had left her; she was a wraith-like form on the bed of foliage, coughing when she saw them, her violet eyes widening. He knelt down next to her on the wet earth and reached to press his fingers against her forehead, pushing aside her lank, dark hair and finding her to be burning with fever.

"Pans," he said leaning in so she could hear him better. "He's agreed to help so long as you tell him if you know anything about Bella."

Pansy blinked a few times and for a horrible moment Draco believed that he had found her in her last few moments of life. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned something unintelligible. Her face looked deathly white against the thick black hair that framed it.

"Pans," he said again, reaching to squeeze her impossibly icy hand. "Can you hear me?"

Blaise stood behind them watching like a dark sentinel, saying nothing. The rain was the only sound for a few moments and finally she opened her eyes.

"The Ministry…"

She paused and broke into a coughing fit while Draco held her hand. Her eyes were watery when once more they opened.

"We had…contacts with the European Ministry of Magic," she managed to choke out. Draco's brow furrowed.

"Within the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

Pansy offered a weak nod.

"B-Bella mentioned that there are Apparition points directly to points in Euro-"

She stopped when Blaise swooped down in a graceful motion, startling her.

"He can't apparate; we'd know about it. I've made sure of that."

Both Draco and Pansy gazed up at Blaise. It was odd how the tables had turned.

Pansy's coughs sounded dry and painful.

"There is a way…through Scotland and the North Sea for him to get away."

Her face had paled in spite of the coughing fit. Blaise watched her with glittering eyes.

"So if we head north quickly, we might be able to stop him."

Pansy swallowed, wincing.

"If what Bella…said was true. Yes. She wanted to escape with him, to run when she could but he would not allow that. She spoke of Europe…of Albania."

Draco let go of Pansy hand and stood to face his former mate.

"Will you let us help you?"

Blaise considered the offer in silence. He knew that Draco's offer of help meant an assured victory for the Alliance, even if he had intended the rest of the Death Eaters to die. But sometimes life was strange and offered sudden changes in direction and who was he to deny that this way it would be easier?

Slowly he stuck out his hand in solidarity.

"Very well. We go north together. All of us."

Draco nearly collapsed with relief. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about Blaise coming after him anyway. There was only Bellatrix and Voldemort and a few of their closest officials to worry about. Take them down and the Ministry would fall completely. It was a very attainable goal and one Draco wanted to reach as quickly as possible. He put his hand firmly into Blaise's, white against black.

"It will be a victory for the Alliance. We'll have Voldemort cornered and this time he won't get away."

The two men shook on a promise that Draco believed would end the war and Blaise had no intention of keeping.

* * *

><p>Lily climbed into Hermione's lap a few days later, smiling towards the small living room where Neville was helping Leo build a tower of blocks.<p>

"I gave him my wand, Hermione. Leo's gonna be a great wizard!"

Albus had been reading a book in the corner nearest to the furnace and Lily's voice caused him to look up.

"Just like my dad!"

Seamus had been sitting by the window waiting for Dean to contact him about another shipment of supplies. The orders had been coming more and more lately as more able-bodied men and women were joining the fight against Voldemort.

"Aye, and just like _you_," he said with a grin which made Albus sit up proudly. He and James had begun to practice along with Lorcan and Lysander on the weeks that Luna was home.

Hermione was smiling.

"You'll all be great wizards, I'm sure of it. Even you," she finished kissing the top of Lily's wavy-haired head. "And when you get old like me and have kids you can tell them about all the great things their uncles and their grandfather did when they were younger."

Lily was thoughtful, her green eyes luminous as they gazed around the room. Hermione felt warmth settle on her heart at the blessing of having such a glorious reminder of Harry. She hoped that Leo would grow to be a memory of Draco too.

"Hermione, will you have more babies? I miss babies."

"I don't know, darling. Maybe someday," Hermione dared to say.

"Is it because Leo's daddy is gone like mine?"

Hermione hugged Lily for a moment, resting her chin atop the child's head.

"That's a part of it, Lily. But sometimes it takes time," she explained softly the pain of losing Draco always residing in some part of Hermione's slowly healing heart.

Lily turned in the circle of Hermione's arms, her green eyes glowing happily.

"Mama said that too. But guess what?" she asked lowering her voice. "I'm getting a new daddy!"

"Lily Luna Potter!"

Ginny's voice rang loudly through the room just as Hermione gasped and looked up. The red-haired woman's rosy blush put her red hair to shame.

"That wasn't your secret to share!"

Lily jumped off Hermione's lap and put her small hands on her hips.

"It's true though!" she replied defiantly, staring up at her mother. "Seamus is gonna be my new daddy!"

Hermione jumped up with a huge smile and even Neville looked up from where he had been quietly sitting with Leo.

Ginny was blushing as Lily ran over to grab Seamus' hand.

"Tell them! Tell them you gonna be my new daddy!"

Seamus was laughing at Lily's antics and the sound of his laughter had drawn the others into the room like bees to honey. Though neither confirmed it, Hermione could see the truth in the way Seamus and Ginny gazed at each other for a brief moment. Love shone between them, strong even though it had been mostly unspoken.

Hermione quickly pulled Ginny into a hug, feeling joy and excitement, a bit of sadness and even a touch of envy.

"I'm so happy for you, Gin," she whispered to her friend. Ginny squeezed her more tightly.

"I would have told you. We were going to. I guess Lily thought it should have happened sooner," she said when they pulled apart. There were tears shining in Ginny's honey-brown eyes.

The women remained joined by their hands.

"I never thought I'd let Harry go."

"But you did. Seamus is a great man."

"I know it."

She paused.

"Hermione, I know that I'm never going to…see things the same as you. You've been through hell."

"So have you!"

"It's different. I just want you to know that…you can move on. It's possible even if you think you can't."

She turned her head towards the place where Seamus was talking to Lily and Neville. Hermione didn't have to ask Ginny to know what she had meant by her words.

It was about Neville. It was about moving on. Ginny sighed.

"When this war is over…."

So many people had said that phrase over and over again. So many times Hermione had recalled thinking about how life would be after the fighting was over and there was peace in the wizarding world once more. They were closer and closer to that time and she knew without a doubt that life would be different from all her imaginings.

She would have to let go of the past.

She would have to move on.


	60. Chapter 60

_As always, many hugs to you the readers and reviewers! You make me smile. This chapter goes fast so I hope you're with me when it's all done. It spans about two years of Hermione's life and ends the war which will set up for the Dramione reunion that is coming in the next chapter! I had hoped it would be this one, but it would have been way to long to put all that into one chapter, so... The wait is almost over guys! Enjoy. _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY<p>

* * *

><p><em>Cardiff, Wales<em>

Over the next several months, Commander Blaise Zabini gathered forces for his last and final stand against Voldemort and the Ministry. He was not a fool; he knew he would need able bodied witches and wizards to finally accomplish his final and monumental goal. The airwaves of the WWN were ringing with his firm and impassioned voice, a voice full of strength; the voice of a leader.

"_And if you believe that this war between the half-bloods, Muggle-borns and the Ministry can end without you then listen to me. It cannot! We must join together to become the force that we have not been._"

Ginny and Seamus married in a small, low-key ceremony and after this she convinced her new husband that she would not stay in Wales. Though many who had opposed the Ministry quickly gave their support to Blaise and his Alliance, Ginny would not. Fearing that Wales was far too deeply in Blaise's military control, she begged Seamus that they flee to Ireland. He reluctantly agreed and the family said their tear-filled goodbyes, Ginny promising she would return when the war was over.

When the war was over…

It was like a song that Hermione believed would never end. Though she didn't want Ginny and the children to leave her she knew it was necessary and that she had to stay. The Clinic was busy and Neville needed the help. And because she loved Neville, Hermione and Leo stayed.

"_We must join together to ensure that there will remain no remnants of oppression and prejudice. Together we will break the bonds that have bound us for so long! Join me and fight for your rights, for your freedom!" _

There seemed to be so much and so little happening all at once. Ginny wrote letters to Hermione. Once settled in Ireland, Seamus reunited with his mother and she died a month later leaving him a large sum of money. He and Ginny opened a home for those refugees of the war. It became one of the first shelters in Ireland and would one day become the first post-war shelter and orphanage.

Shortly after the shelter opened its doors, Seamus went off to support the WERA. Ginny had refused to do so and Hermione's heart ached a bit less knowing that her best friend would not be in the fray. She had enough to worry about with Luna having gone to join the fighting. Because Neville couldn't, she kept busy with him and watching both her own son and Luna's twin boys.

"_Fight for the least of what you deserve – the right to make your own choices. You shall not be judged by your blood status! You shall not be thwarted by a man who sees only one direction!_"

Each week that passed brought more death, more injuries and often times Hermione was so exhausted when she returned to her flat that she could do nothing more than kiss her sleeping son and check on the twins before passing out on her own bed. The days that passed became innumerable, dawning with the morning son and waning with the moon at night. Hermione did not think; she did her duty.

Six months after Seamus had gone into the battle the Alliance made their first attempt to end Voldemort's life.

It was a failure.

Because all her friends had scattered once again, the days of dinners and get-togethers were over and Hermione had only a frazzled Neville and the Wireless to keep her company. And the night the news came of the failed attempt on Voldemort's life, Hermione felt her heart stop. The announcer seemed so cold and not invested in what had happened. Voldemort had survived and those who had led the attack had all perished. It was a victory for the Ministry. And a piece of Hermione's heart had died knowing that if Draco had been with them, he was dead too. The worst part was that she would never know; she had no way to contact anyone within the Ministry even if she had wanted to.

Neville had come to stay with her that night and she sobbed in his arms, unable to speak what was on her troubled heart, unable to express even closely how it felt to lose something you had hoped would happen for so long.

When the war was over…the cruel song echoed in her beleaguered heart.

"_Do not doubt that if you allow him to do as he wishes that he will not stop until he destroys all of you. Fight for the wizarding world! Do not worry about the death and loss that will no doubt come with your choice for that is the way of war! Join with me!"_

Hermione didn't know when she had begun to doubt Blaise Zabini's sanity. Perhaps it was during those last few months of fighting, when the Alliance was moving forward even though more and more casualties were being reported and more and more wounded were crowding Neville's Clinic. There seemed to be so much pain and loss and _still_ the Commander would not give up, would not give his supporters a chance to breathe and to recoup. He was drunk with the desire to end it all, too persistent and not nearly merciful enough.

No one seemed to see this, however. The people who remained in Cardiff touted Blaise as one of the great wizards of his time, just like Harry had been. They supported him without question and Hermione found it madness that they did not see his growing list of faults.

Perhaps it was that in times of war people were desperate for strong leadership. Or perhaps it was that hell was paved with the greatest of intentions. Whatever it was, Hermione grew to resent living in Wales, fearing that when the war ended they would feel no less oppression than they did now.

So when Neville shyly proposed marriage the winter after Leo turned three, she expressed her desire to leave Wales. He was too thrilled with her acceptance of his sincere albeit stumbling proposal that he agreed to her request.

Hermione and Neville married that March, three months after his proposal.

Although Hermione had convinced herself that Draco was gone and that even when the war was over she would have to move on, the reality that she _had_ didn't sink in until the her wedding night when Neville had emerged from the bathroom of their honeymoon hotel wearing a nightshirt and a shy smile of anticipation. That was when she realized that all her seductive dreams of Draco would have to end, that her life was different now and she was married.

But still she pulled the blankets up to her chin, her brown eyes terrified.

"If you step any nearer to me I'll hex you, Neville Longbottom," she had rasped from beneath the covers.

Neville, bewildered and hurt, had chalked up her reaction to fear and the memory of her abusive past. He had reluctantly spent his wedding night sleeping on an uncomfortable chair while his new wife slept in the bed haunted by dreams of another man.

The following night, Neville had prepared himself for the same fate as he got ready for bed while Hermione sat atop the covers watching him with wide, glittering eyes. When he turned out the light, he saw his bride still sitting up stiffly in the bed and he sighed from his place on the hard-backed chair.

"Is it Draco?"

Hermione hated herself because she could hear the disappointment in Neville's voice.

"No."

It would be the first of many lies to the face of a man who didn't deserve them. Who had done nothing but love her. It was unfair. Hermione knew it and it broke her heart. She thought of God and of hell and wondered if perhaps that's where she would end up. Sometimes it didn't even matter; her heart hurt so much both from loss and from the guilt of her lie.

But how was she supposed to have told him how trapped she felt, how terrified? How was she supposed to explain her inability to let go of the past? Was it even possible?

She had done the only thing she could; Hermione had allowed him in their bed.

Being with Neville was different in every single way she could have imagined. There was no dark desire, no feeling of wanting someone so much it hurt. No dark swirling of passion in the pit of her belly. He was shy and fumbling; he was innocent. She loved him and she knew that he loved her but it wasn't the way she had loved Draco.

Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be.

Neville, Hermione and Leo moved to Ireland in April, a month after their quick nuptials, and settled into a cottage near to Ginny and Seamus' place. Hermione was quick to jump in with helping at the shelter and within weeks had convinced Neville to add on to the building, opening up a modest medical clinic. Although he was not opposed, Neville had been enflamed with the desire to fight in the war and shortly after Leo's fourth birthday, only three months after his marriage to Hermione, he set off for the Alliance headquarters, vowing he would fight until the war was over.

And that was how Hermione Longbottom found herself alone in Ireland, with a four year old son and her husband fighting against the Ministry.

She busied herself helping Ginny and grew adjusted to being a wife and a mother. The world was changing; she had no clue how life would be once the war was over…

"_Magic is our birth right! We were born with it and to it we have a right! I will see myself destroyed before I surrender my rights! You should too! Magic is your right! Fight for yourself; fight for is a part of you and they say they can take away_!"

War was everywhere. It seemed colder and a bit lonelier without Neville. Though Hermione knew that there were other women in her shoes and even worse than that, a growing number of children without either parent to care for them, still she missed him in a way she didn't believe she would when he had been at her side. Sometimes she would spend hours locked in their bedroom listening to Myron Wagtail's album and thinking about how horrible she was to not love Neville the way he deserved. So she vowed that when he returned (because there wouldn't be an 'if', she decided) she would love him as best as she could.

Her Neville.

All around her the hate that had been growing towards the Ministry and the Death Eaters had mounted to a fever pitch. Those that had once been feared were now the ones that were hated. It seemed that every other person had nothing but venom to spit when it came to the Ministry. Experiencing what she had, Hermione would not blame them.

But she remained silent.

She knew she owed her life to a Death Eater and more than that, he was in her heart.

"The war is nearly over," stated Ginny one late September afternoon.

She was poring over papers for the orphanage while Hermione was working on a list of necessary supplies to get them through the next month. Leo was 'helping' his mother by coloring at the other side of the table and the older children were outside playing.

Hermione smiled to herself.

"You always say that."

"And one day, it'll be true."

Ginny bit her lip.

"I wonder if I made the right choice by staying behind from the fighting."

Hermione's heart constricted at the thought that Ginny might leave her to fend for the children while she joined in a fight that would not guarantee her a safe return home.

"You've done enough," was all she said, however.

"Seamus sends letters. The first attack against Voldemort was bad, I admit, but this time they'll get it right. The Ministry can't fight forever. There aren't enough Death Eaters."

Leo looked up, his gray eyes shining brightly.

"No good deaf eadder bassars."

The phrase and the vehemence with which the four year old had stated it still made Hermione's blood run cold even though it wasn't the first time he had said it. She had deduced that her son learned the phrase from some of the older children at the shelter. That's what the war had begun to do; it was breeding hate. Leo was saying things he didn't understand.

Hermione put down her quill.

"What did Mama tell you about that phrase?"

"I'm not supposta say it."

Hermione gave him a stern look that made Leo's lips tremble.

"I'm sorry, Mama. You still love me?"

"With all my heart, baby."

Ginny knelt down near Leo.

"Tell you what. You've helped your Mama with her papers so much today I think you ought to go outside and see if James will show you how to fly on his broomstick. How would you like that, Little Leo?"

Leo looked perturbed.

"I'm not little!" he exclaimed but dashed from the room towards the backdoor leaving the two women alone in a tense silence.

Hermione looked down at her strewn papers and discarded quill.

"I need to teach him not to say those things," she whispered more to herself than to anyone but Ginny let out a snort.

"Lock him away from the rest of the world, then. That's how it is," she said. "The Death Eaters are everything evil in the eyes of the rest of the world. It's just that now they have no power. How do you expect people to act?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling silently torn.

"Is this the kind of world we're going to raise our children in, Gin? The only thing they'll learn is hate and prejudice!"

The truth hung in the air around them for a few moments but neither woman could deny the truths that lay between them.

"Will you tell Leo about his father?" Ginny wondered a moment later.

Hermione's head snapped up from where she had been unable to concentrate on her work.

"You mean that his father is a no good Death Eater bastard?"

The words were sarcastic but heavy with sadness. She took a shaking breath.

"How could I ever do that?" she asked not expecting an answer.

There was none.

"Neville is his father; he's the only father Leo has ever known. I can't tell him. Not with the way things are. You heard what they were saying happened in Cardiff!"

Both women grew uncomfortable, thinking of the news they had heard over the Wireless the week before, where a woman living outside of the city had been captured by a mob of townspeople and her son beaten to death for being a product of the union between a Muggle-born and a Death Eater. It had been both shocking and saddening.

"Draco is my past," Hermione stated firmly, trying to convince herself again that it was true.

She knew that realistically it _was_ but her stubborn heart had yet to fully accept it.

"I know," Ginny replied thoughtfully.

Then she reached to touch Hermione's hand.

"When I first found out you were pregnant and had escaped from London, Blaise told me that Malfoy was dead."

Hermione searched Ginny's face for a moment and then the red-headed woman continued.

"Have you…I didn't really have any reason not to believe him."

Hermione sighed.

"I haven't heard from him if that's what you were going to ask. All I know is when he helped me escape he was alive. What's happened to him after that I couldn't hazard a guess."

And it broke her heart, she knew.

"If it makes you feel better, I just…I wanted to tell you that I was wrong before. About the things I said about him…about everything I said that afternoon at Charlie's place."

Hermione looked at her friend for a moment as Ginny continued.

"What if Draco knew this is the way it would be? That the Alliance would become as prejudiced as those that they were fighting against? Can you imagine where you might have been today if Draco had stayed with you? What you might be facing?"

Hermione didn't want to think of it but she knew that Ginny's words were the truth.

"There's no doubt that Draco loved you. And now you have Leo as a memory of him."

Hermione stood, pulling away from Ginny. The words were a balm to her heart, for she had feared Ginny would never accept what had happened between herself and Draco. But those same words served to remind Hermione of how much she had lost.

Moments later, Ginny turned on the Wireless. And Blaise's heartfelt, passionate pleas for help could be heard over the airwaves.

"_You will give every ounce of strength, and you will offer your very lives if the Alliance asks for them. And even then you will never cease to be, for as long as the wizarding world stands, then so will you stand also."_

* * *

><p><em>Two weeks later<em>

It was a clear, glorious day in October. Hermione was at a local market, picking up vegetables for supper because Ginny and the children were coming to eat. In the grand scheme of things, the day had been one of the most insignificant of Hermione's life, really.

The loud yell that broke the stark silence outside of the market startled her, causing her to drop a bunch of lettuce. At first there had only been that one yell but then there were running footsteps and more yelling, and loud voices carrying on the cool afternoon air.

Hermione rushed around the bushels and cases of vegetables and fruits, her heart hammering wildly. Though years of abuse and war had conditioned her to assume the worst, what she saw in the outdoor square caused her to gasp. People were hugging and kissing one another, others were dancing and yelling out their excitement and still others had tears in their eyes. Trying to breathe in between her hammering heart, Hermione reached for the nearest person, an elderly wizard who was saying a rather loud prayer to God.

"W-what happened?" she asked, clutching his hand and hoping for the best. Perhaps a small victory or perhaps…

"Just came over the Wireless, it did!" he said reaching to hold her hand in his tightly. "The Alliance won the war! Voldemort is dead!"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she felt lightheaded. It wasn't possible, was it? That the war had ended on such an unassuming, _normal_ day. That something she had gotten so used to could be over? Stumbling backwards, she ran into a man who was dancing his wife around in an erratic circle, crying the whole time.

All around her there was rejoicing. Hermione felt a torrent of emotions wash over her and she couldn't quite grasp even one to analyze. She stood in place, unable to move, to cry, to laugh, to do _anything._

_The war is over._

She wondered about Neville. Her heart began to pound as she thought of Draco. What if he had survived? What if…?

_The war is over._

Her heart cried for all those who had given their lives throughout the years. The Weasleys. Her first husband. Harry. All the rest, every last one of them.

_The war is over._

She would never feel enslaved again. No one would tell her that she wasn't good enough. Voldemort was dead. How it had happened she didn't know and Hermione wondered if she'd ever care.

Her fingers trembled as she reached to clutch her handbag closer to her.

"Funny thing, it was!" said one of the citizens nearest to her. "Bloke that did him in was just like one of us, he was!"

Another one called out in agreement.

"I nearly shit me cacks when I heard! He's one of us, to be sure! Got a wife and a little tyke!"

Hermione stopped to listen, her heart constricting with sadness and joy all at once. The man to finally bring down Voldemort was just like any other man. It made her feel warm that in spite of Harry's inability to do what he had been destined to do, someone else _had._

"Had a strange name too, he did! Longbottom!"

She stopped, a sudden, terrible throb rapping against her temple so Hermione had to close her eyes against the dizziness. For a moment she tried to gather her bearings at the shock of what she had just realized.

But the darkness overwhelmed her and she fell faint.

* * *

><p><em>Scotland<em>

The greatest dark wizard of all time met his fate at the hands of a hero who had never believed he _was_ a hero. He was a humble man, crippled by the tides of war but determined that this time he would make it right. He would fight to the end or die trying.

All around them there was the debris of war, the yells and the scuffles, the flashing of wand light like fireworks in an iron-gray sky.

But amidst all this there was a snake.

A snake and a sword that glinted like gray steel and precious rubies. There was a sudden rush of power as the hero's fingers wrapped around the gilded handle of said sword as he fumbled to a kneel position and crawled across ash and dirt with determination.

It was only one well-placed swipe and an immortal dark wizard became nothing more than a mere soulless mortal. The final horcrux had been destroyed.

But Voldemort would not give up and seeing the last remnants of his soul be torn apart by a mere human named Longbottom he reacted, lifting up his wand to destroy all that was attempting to stop him.

Neville had never believed he would look into the face of evil again but life was often unpredictable. As he dropped the Sword of Gryffindor against the dark, beaten earth he clutched his wand in one sweat-slippery hand and struggled into a standing position, blinking against dirt and sweat that threatened his vision.

Voldemort opened his mouth but Neville never heard the curse, seeing only the green light flash brilliantly as it raced across empty space and all time seemed to stop. The former Gryffindor reacted defensively, his words broken and roughened by the fighting. He aimed at the other man's wand, hoping to disarm him.

The two spells collided and the Killing Curse rebounded, destroying the man who had cast it. As Neville fell forward, his own wand slipping from his loosened fingers, he had no real knowledge of what he had done. He had no inkling that he had ended the war – that he had done what Harry would have but could not have.

The war had ended; Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated.

A mere humble man had become a hero.

Blaise Zabini wasted no time capturing the remnants of the Death Eater armies, imprisoning Bellatrix Black Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback. He knew others were getting away, scattering to the four winds but he had no doubt that sooner or later he would recapture all those who had stood against the Alliance for so long – in spite of becoming allies in the end.

That did not matter to him. There had never been an intention to keep his word to Malfoy anyhow, although the blond man had disappeared during the final battle and could not be found. Perhaps he had died, the pity.

The weary lines of the Alliance began to struggle to return home, to make sense of what was to come, and to be dubbed victorious! Blaise went with them, leading them back the way they had come and to face a new world – a world that he would help rebuild.

* * *

><p>There were tearful, emotional reunions. There was the hushed uncertainty of what came next. There were children reunited with their parents and plans made for a future without war. There were still the struggles of healing those wounded and burying those who had passed.<p>

Through it all, Hermione worked feverishly for she feared that her mind would wander if she stopped to think of all that had happened. She wouldn't and even more importantly, she couldn't.

The war was over and her life was going to change and she had a future, a husband and a child. A family. The holidays came and went and winter melted into a glorious hopeful spring.

Throughout those months, Neville gave up his work as a healer, shyly and with more than just a bit of discomfort, he stepped into the spotlight as the man who had defeated the greatest dark wizard of their generation. Though he wasn't sure what to do with all the attention lavished on him, somehow he still endeared many to him – those who knew him and those who learned of him after what he had done. He graciously accepted accolades, provided interviews, and accepted awards on the behalf of the wizarding world.

Even Blaise reluctantly offered him the greatest of military awards. But in spite of his required time away from home and the sudden whirlwind of activity that Neville's life had become, he never failed to make time for his family. And slowly Hermione learned to trust him completely.

The wizarding world began to heal slowly in the months that followed. Businesses began to teeter from death into life once again, families were rebuild and people began to foster the tiniest beginnings of hope in their hearts.

Plans for a new Ministry with new leadership began to be built and everyone assumed that the Commander of the Alliance would surely take the seat as the new Minister for Magic. Some whispered that Blaise did not even want such a role and others were certain that he was too unrelenting in his beliefs for the position. In the end it did not matter for someone else was chosen.

In June, Leo turned five.

In July, the newly formed and yet to be built Ministry named Neville Longbottom their new Minister for Magic and Hermione found herself moving back to London once again. And that was how Hermione Granger Weasley Longbottom, who had been a Muggle-born persecuted and treated as nothing, became the wife of the London's Minister.

* * *

><p><em>Two months later<em>

Draco blinked, struggling to see.

_When the war is over…_

He was not used to being totally alone. For so long the strangled sound of Pansy's coughs had kept him in miserable company, but even that was gone now. He had lost her during the final battle and wasn't sure if she had survived or not. There hadn't been time to do anything but flee.

As Voldemort had fallen, all hope for the Death Eaters had been snuffed out and those with the Mark fled before they could be captured. Draco was no fool; he had not waited to see what would happen.

For the first time he truly was alone. He had no family, he had nothing.

It had been shocking to him to glimpse Hermione's smiling face on the cover of the newly-organized Daily Prophet. As one of the first newspapers to be up and running after the war, they had been given exclusive rights to interview and photograph the ceremony swearing in the new Minister for Magic.

Draco hadn't truly cared at the time, several months ago, when the Ministry had announced new leadership. After all, he had been more worried about where he would sleep next and where he would find food. Even though the end of the war had signaled hope and prosperity for some, for others it had meant completely devastation. He was on the run – and he would continue to run until he could not run any longer. He had once been a man of great power within the Ministry and now he was nothing.

But seeing Hermione's face on the front page of the paper…

Somehow Draco couldn't imagine not seeing her one last time. He would not bother her; he would watch from afar. He would check to make sure her life was just as he hoped it would be, everything that she had deserved. His battered heart ached for everything he had lost five years ago even though he was thrilled that she had found a new life and abundant blessings. That was how it should have been.

As the sun rose on another glorious autumn day, Draco turned to move in the direction of London hoping he would get there without getting caught so he could see Hermione even if it was only for a moment. He had promised her, after all, that he would return…when the cruel war was over.


	61. Chapter 61

_The wait is over! I had to split this one up – so I hope it's not too much of a cliffhanger! You all know what is coming. Enjoy. Oh, and thank you to all! I hope this isn't disappointing since you've all been waiting for it. Fingers crossed!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione's whole life changed once she returned to London.<p>

Back when she had still been in school she had had dreamed of working for the Ministry, having especially considered Auror training among other things. She had also pondered working for the Department of Transportation at one time or another.

But never had she even dreamed of being where she was now – wife to the Minister.

Neville took on the new and heavy responsibility as he did everything – quietly and precisely. Because it took him longer to make decisions and each and every act and decision he made was done only after considerable thought, assistants were brought in to help him with the everyday tasks. Hermione's itineraries consisted of meetings and visits to the people in the surrounding areas and with the higher level Ministry officials in the countries surrounding England.

There was never a lack of things to do and even though Neville's first act as Minister was to re-open all lines of travel within the wizarding world making it easy for Hermione to travel and see her family, she hardly ever had time to see Ginny, Seamus and the children, or Luna. She spent most of her time making Neville's transition into the public life as comfortable as possible whilst taking care of a growing, tenacious boy.

Neville wasn't a man who had ultimately been made for power even though he had accepted it and done what had been his duty. Though during the day he was regal and quiet, at nights he tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep and waking at odd hours only to fall back into a fitful sleep. But never did he complain. Hermione did her best to keep to her promise during the war – to love him as best as she could.

Though Neville had taken the position of Minister he left the military decisions and duties up to Blaise, whom he had instated as the Ministry's new military commander. Unsurprisingly, Blaise made every decision swiftly and without an air of doubt and he was a powerful and detrimental opposition to any remaining Death Eaters and former Ministry sympathizers though most of them were either dead or in hiding.

Bellatrix and Fenrir were placed in prison after being given a death sentence. Blaise had determined to use them as an example for any of those planning on defying the newly formed Ministry. Though the war was over, hatred had not ceased, having only shifted its target.

All through the city of London, shelters began to spring up with the help and support of Hermione and Neville. She helped channel some of the Ministry funds towards helping orphaned children and those suffering from the effects of war. Ginny would split some of her time between her home in Ireland and helping establish the shelters in London.

Hermione was positive that with the right amount of money and support she could help bring peace to a tumultuous struggling world in spite of the ever-present hatred. And she even managed to believe and glean a false sense of security from her actions. That was until reality hit her one late September day as she stood in front of Neville's desk in the large study that made up half of the lower floor of their three story home in central London.

"What do you mean there's no more funding?" she asked, her heart constricting a bit.

She had put in an order for books and supplies for a small shelter that had just opened up in western London the week prior.

Neville watched his wife for a moment not missing the flash of anger in her eyes or the determined set of her jaw.

"The Welsh Ministry has withheld financial aid when they heard that some of the youngsters staying there are children of Death Eaters. We can't do this without the cooperation."

Hermione paled, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"And you'll stand for that!" she nearly screeched.

It was unlike Hermione to get so undone and Neville stood and reached for her hand in hopes to calm her down. She shoved it away with vehemence.

"Don't try to placate me or I'll hex you, Longbottom!"

She only called him by his last name when she was furious. Neville wrung his hands helplessly.

"Look, the war only ended a few months ago. I've got loads on my plate and the last thing I want to do is instigate division. Isn't the whole point to keep the peace?"

His voice was wary but tinged with hope.

Hermione's face paled.

"Oh, that's bleeding marvelous, isn't it?" she raged. "Put a few children on the streets because of their parent's sins?"

She flung her hands out in front of her.

"What if it were Leo? You say he's your son, don't you? Would you punish him simply because his father was a Death Eater? Hypocrite!"

Hermione felt a flood of guilt wash over the white-hot rage that filled her but she couldn't find it in her emotional state to realize if she was been fair or not. Neville swallowed back a painful response, choosing his words carefully.

"Blaise heads up the Department of Magical Cooperation and he knows and connects with the other Ministers. I can't be causing problems, Hermione, no matter how unfair it seems. I can't offer you the money to fund another shelter."

She pursed her lips until they were white, her heart pounding within her chest.

"This is for the betterment of wizard kind!"

Neville sighed.

"I know it. And…maybe we just need time, I-"

She flung her hands up again.

"Forget it."

She turned to go but Neville reached to stop her, hating when they were angry with one another. As with everything else, he took his marriage seriously.

"Hermione-"

Thought not as angry as a few seconds before, she pulled away from him.

"I'm going to check on Leo and the governess. And then I'm going for a stroll. Please leave me alone."

She turned to see his pink, pleading face.

"Don't be angry with me."

She was torn but was unable to say anything to appease her husband and instead rushed from the room.

* * *

><p>It was cool for September, Hermione decided, as she pulled her thick, warm robes around her body. She was moving down the well-lit street just as dusk had arrived. The trees looked like ominous, hulking masses against the darkening sky and the colored leaves shivered in the slight autumn breeze.<p>

Huddled down into the warmth of her cloak, Hermione moved towards the location of the newest shelter – the one that sodding Blaise and the rest of the stupid Ministry would not help her fund.

_What good is it to be the Minister's wife if I feel so helpless?_

A part of Hermione knew that she was fighting so hard for the children's rights because her own son would have been in the same shoes had she not lived through the war. And that terrified and appalled her all at the same time.

The brick building loomed at the corner and she hurried across the street towards it. A weak, yellow light streamed from the stoop and she could see a figure huddled there, unmoving.

Hermione paused to catch her breath, her brow furrowing. If the Ministry would not help her, surely there was ways to make the money! She could work again; she could slip a job in between caring for Leo and doing her wifely and public duties. Even if Neville didn't understand she would convince him eventually. Or perhaps they could dip into their savings. It wasn't as if they lacked money, although savings was something Hermione had never believed she would have much of. Now she did.

Or she could ask Ginny.

The options were swirling within her feverish mind as she neared the stoop of the shelter and a dry, horrible cough interrupted her fast train of thought. The sound seemed to be coming from the bowed figure on the stoop and when Hermione neared she saw it was a female.

She was wearing a ragged, dirty cloak and her face was turned away so that she was unidentifiable. Hermione could see the girl's fingers – long and emaciated, as if she were a skeleton and not actually a human person. She was thin and small, shaking as she fought with another violent bout of coughing.

Overcome with pity that seemed endless as of late, Hermione crouched next to the poor soul.

"Let me help you," she offered kindly and the girl turned, startled, a horrified look in her wide, violet eyes.

Violet eyes.

Hermione was struck with a sudden, terrible recollection of a hot, dry afternoon over six years before where she had been tortured by a woman with bright, violet eyes and a beautiful laugh.

Pansy Parkinson.

It seemed that Pansy recognized Hermione at the same time, yanking her hand away as if she had been burned.

"Granger."

The sound was a single, pitiful croak and Pansy began an attempt to get to her feet, her weakness overcoming her at the last moment and causing her to slump forward so that Hermione had to catch her.

"You can't even move," she murmured, helping the other woman back down onto the cement steps.

Still Pansy jumped skittishly at every attempt Hermione made to help her.

Darkness had blanketed them, the only light coming from the streetlamps and the light from within the shelter.

"No one can help me, Granger."

It was odd to hear Pansy Parkinson sound so weak when Hermione had never known her any other way but ruthless and determined. The war and perhaps even life had beaten everything from her, leaving behind a wasted, ghastly shell. Hermione could see bruises and dirt that layered her once flawless features. Her eyes were deep and hollow, much like those of Lavender Brown when she had first arrived at the alienage so many years before. Her hair was oily and lank, hanging around her wan face in thick sheets. In spite of her appearance, or perhaps compounded with it, the cough that shook her frail body seemed to be the most frightening thing of all.

"I'm dying," she managed to choke out.

Hermione shook her head, helping her across the threshold into the dimly lit, stuffy and stale-smelling room. There were a few beds here, and a rickety staircase. Very few people inhabited the place.

"Hogwash," she replied. "No one's ever died from a cough."

She hoped her words were gentle enough to offer some hope to the woman who indeed seemed as if she might die at any instant.

The few who were taking shelter that night watched Hermione lead the weary woman down the dusty hallway with suspicious eyes and she moved a bit faster to get away from them. She knew the hatred that the general populace had towards the Death Eaters.

Merlin's beard, she couldn't imagine what they would do if they knew who Pansy was!

The back room served as a place for storage, though there were few things there and the corner of the room was cleared out and relatively dust-free.

"Here," she offered, helping Pansy down into a sitting position against the wall.

The sick woman watched Hermione with expressionless eyes. She shivered and then the coughing claimed her body.

The evening was growing colder and there were no blankets to be had and so Hermione found herself removing the cloak she wore to drape it over Pansy's frail body. For a moment the coughing subsided and a heavy silence existed between the two women.

Pansy finally spoke.

"You offer me kindness when no one else will."

Her eyes were bright with fever.

"And when I was in your place, I offered you none."

Hermione's throat was dry and she swallowed, though it was difficult.

"Leave the past in the past," she whispered, her eyes watering from some withheld emotion.

Everything, her whole day was forgotten – all the frustration over Neville's inability to help her fund more shelters, the anger over growing prejudice around her – all of it. Her day to day stresses and inconveniences seemed trivialized by the pain she saw deeply seated in the depths of Pansy's once lovely eyes.

The woman who lay prostrate lifted her skeletal hand.

"You…you have been through hell."

Hermione swallowed once more.

"We all have."

There was a long pause and Hermione felt as if there was a crackling in the air between them.

"It is…a sin to be what I am," said Pansy and she pushed up the sleeve of her robe so that Hermione could see.

Her pale arm was riddled with scars and freshly gouged wounds where someone had tried to remove the Mark that still marred her flesh.

"I cannot undo what I have done and now I will pay for it until the moment I die."

Her eyes closed.

"I welcome death. I always have."

Hermione stood by helplessly as Pansy was reduced to nothing but a violent fit of coughing. When it passed she moaned, her eyes fluttering but not opening. Quickly, Hermione knelt to take the other woman's hand.

"I have something that will help the cough," she offered.

"And what?" replied the other woman. "If you reach to help me they'll cut off your hand. That's what they do now, you know. They would rather watch us suffer and die than offer us a bit of help."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding.

"I know, I know."

She squeezed Pansy's fingers.

"But my husband is a Healer; he can-"

Pansy opened her eyes.

"So you got…married?"

Hermione faltered a moment, wondering why talking about her marriage seemed so mundane in the face of Pansy's hardships. It wasn't as if Hermione had esteemed Pansy a great friend and, in fact, they had been enemies. The wraith of a woman that lay in the darkened corner of the storeroom was one who had tortured Hermione! She had intended her to die; she had called her such awful, degrading things.

Hermione's blood still simmered at the though of what she had been through at the hands of the helpless woman at her feet. And yet, she felt nothing now but pity.

"I am the Minister's wife," she whispered and Pansy's eyes widened.

Then she shook with coughs.

"He…he hoped good things for you."

There was an unspoken understanding when Hermione met Pansy's eyes. They both knew it was Draco she spoke of.

_She loves him too._

For years, Hermione wondered what had happened to him and now she had her chance and she spoke with a voice that was emotionally strained.

"Did…he suffer much?"

Pansy's eyes had closed and she was breathing evenly even though the sound rattled within her lungs.

"We all did."

"I-is…he alive?"

Nothing had meant more to Hermione than know the answer to her breathless question. Her eyes watered with anticipation as she told herself even if he did live, it no longer mattered to her.

It couldn't; she had moved on.

"He was…with me until the very end," whispered Pansy. "The final battle…it…if we had stayed, we would have died. Most of those…who opposed Blaise fell in battle. I…I ran. I don't know…"

There were tears that left strange, pale track marks along her sallow cheeks.

"He fell and they had gone after him but I…"

Hermione's heart had risen to dizzying heights and then had plummeted into the pits of despair at Pansy's rasping admission. So he was most likely dead, fallen on the final battlefield while Neville had been fighting to win the war for the Alliance.

There was no time to waste then on his demise, Hermione knew. She had to focus on helping the one who had survived – all the ones who survived – with or without the Mark. She wouldn't let Pansy die simply because she had once been the one to persecute her.

"I'll help you," she stated tremulously, blinking against hot tears of loss.

Her fingers shook as she wrapped them around Pansy's icy-cold ones. The dark-haired woman responded weakly, moaning as she began to cough again. Hermione pulled her cloak up to Pansy's chin, hoping to make her as comfortable as possible while she rushed home to get something from their medicinal stores. For now, those things would have to do until she convinced Neville to come help her.

As she got up, Pansy opened her eyes once more.

"I know now…why he loved you so."

It was the last thing she managed to say before falling into a deep, death-like sleep. But the words would make Hermione uneasy and broken for days to come.

* * *

><p>Hermione never revealed her meeting with Pansy to either Neville or Ginny and Seamus when they arrived for a visit the following week. She had convinced herself that it was for the better, and she would not stir up old wounds or aggravate her friends and family. Instead, she had taken from the supply at her home bringing the herbs to Pansy and brewing a potion to help with the coughing until the dark-haired woman no longer winced with pain and was able to keep down the bit of food that was given to her.<p>

In the meantime, Hermione had busied herself with finding a new location for a shelter, and in the end decided that public property was more expensive than private residences and she determined to purchase a house to use as the location of the new shelter – and possibly from someone who needed the money. She convinced Neville that it was a good idea and in the end he had laughed, telling his advisors and other Ministry employees that his wife would save the wizarding world, one person at a time.

But it wasn't until one afternoon when she and Ginny, Neville, Seamus and the children had gone out for a flying lesson that she found the perfect house.

They had apparated to a point somewhere outside of London, where the hills were still covered with green grass even though the trees were splendid in their autumn colors. The houses here were majestic and stately, sitting atop small hills and surrounded by fences. Many had gone into disrepair as their owners had fled because of the war. And now, those which had been owned by the Ministry were being sold by the city. Here and there, however, there was still the rustling of curtains from darkened windows as uncertain owners peered out of their homes to watch the group as they passed by.

The house caught Hermione's eyes immediately for it was a tall, three-story brick colonial with a massive yard which she imagined might be good for any children who might want to play. It was not expensive, as she would later find out, and also far enough away from the city that she hoped would deter Blaise or anyone who was caught by the prejudiced fever that had swept the wizarding world.

"Go on," Ginny said when she noticed Hermione's admiration. "We can practice just there," she added pointing towards a clearing nearby.

And so Hermione walked up towards the lovely house, pausing on the porch uncertainly. She heard no sound within and her knock brought no curious face to the front door.

Pausing only a second she began to knock again.

"Hello? I'm with the Ministry of Magic! I'm looking to make a purchase so if there's anyone home-"

She heard a muffled thud from somewhere within the house and it was that which made her try the door. It was stuck but not locked and she pushed it open to enter.

The rooms were dusty and large, with furniture that was covered with white linens. It was clear that the house had not been in use for a long time and as Hermione moved through each room curiously she heard another thud.

It had come from the basement.

"Hello?"

No one answered her but then she wondered if there were others, like Pansy, who were running from…

The Ministry. Could they really have been running from the Ministry?

_Have we become so blinded? _

Her heart heavy, Hermione found the door to the cellar and it opened with a groan. The light from the room behind her offered only a few steps leading down into a black abyss.

"Hello?"

Once again there was silence and the only thing she could hear was the distant sound of her family and friends as they taught the children how to fly. The sound was like music to her ears even in the shadowy, cool confines of the unknown house.

Perhaps she had been mistaken and there had been no noises. It seemed like the house was abandoned and she would have to call the city to find out how to purchase it. Having decided to turn around and join her family once again, something made Hermione hesitate.

What if she was wrong? What if someone was down there and they needed help just like Pansy had?

_There aren't enough people willing to offer help._

Sighing, she steppe down onto the first landing and then sighed. She would have to check. As she descended into the dank cellar, Hermione removed her wand.

"Lumos," she whispered and light burst forth from her wand, illuminating the steps before her.

When she reached the bottom step, her feet meant hard-packed earth. The room was cold and smelled like the grave.

"Is anyone here?"

Finally she heard it. Breathing.

"If…if you need help, I can…I'm the-"

The wand light bounced off the white cement walls as she moved forward and way in the back of the room there was a pile of what looked like boxes of some sort. She heard the same strained, raspy breathing once again and carefully approached the back of the room, wand aloft.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she insisted with a quiet intensity. "In fact, I'm quite good with Potions and I could help you…if you're hurt."

She spotted the worn, dirty boot first and then walked around the stack of boxes.

What she found – more so _who – _changed her whole life in one horrific, glorious second.

"Sweet Jesus," she whispered, her eyes widening just as she nearly dropped her wand.

Hermione's hands began to tremble as one came up to cover her mouth just as she let out a moan of disbelief. She took a step backwards hoping to find purchase but found nothing and tumbled to the beaten earth floor.

His face was thin and dirty, covered with a full growth of beard the same platinum color as the hair that had grown down to his collar, but she would have known his eyes anywhere – in her dreams and in the darkened corners of a strange cellar.

"D-Draco," she whimpered.

The sound came from the depth of Hermione's heart and was issued forth with a violent rush of joy so pure it brought tears to her eyes. She could see him illuminated by her wand light, his eyes shining with amazement.

She ceased to think; time ceased to move.

Hermione crawled across the floor and threw herself into his arms, breathing in the scent of him – the scent she had never forgotten for it had haunted her darkest dreams. He was hot, perhaps too hot, she thought, but still she clung to him, pressing her face against the sweaty heat of his neck, his beard a foreign, prickling sensation against her cheek. He was so real, so familiar, and she sensed dampness against her skin and tasted the bitter saltiness of tears. Hers? His?

She wasn't sure and could only whimper as Draco's hands came around hers and he let out a choked sob, holding her so tightly Hermione had trouble taking a breath. She straddled his prostrate body wanting to be closer, to be so close to him that they were one. She ran her hands along his shoulders, his arms, anything she could reach if only to assure herself that this moment was _real_ and not just another impossible dream.

But Draco was there and his tears were a reflection of her own just as she leaned in to press her lips against his in a choked, desperate kiss. She forgot herself; she forgot everything that had happened and it was as if time had never moved forward, as if Draco had never been gone.

His fingers wound in the wild curls that spilled around her shoulders and the utterance of her name from his trembling lips burned into her soul and served to remind her that she had been forever marked by this man and that it was only the fool in her that had thought otherwise.

Hermione kissed Draco face, his cheeks, and the scar against his chin, his nose, and his tear-damp eyes as she whispered his name over and over again.

"It's not a dream?" She managed to say and he was shaking his head, smiling even though there was pain evident in his face.

"No, Hermione, I'm here… I'm here, my love…_my love."_

Yes. Yes, she thought. Love. She loved him, God, how she loved him! She kissed him until she was breathless and even then would not relinquish her hold of him, pressing against his body as closely as he would allow.

"I thought you were dead, I though I'd never see you again!" she rasped.

He was watching her with weary quicksilver eyes that shone with tears by the light of her wand. He had reached up to stroke her face tenderly.

"So many times I thought I would die," he replied in the same strange, raspy voice, as if it would take all his strength to speak above a whisper.

The shock Hermione had felt upon first seeing him had not yet faded and she felt as if she were floating in an impossible dream, because dreams were the only time she had ever seen Draco in the last six years.

Six years.

With a start, she pulled away, her eyes filling with tears of guilt. How could she have forgotten about her family, her son, her husband, even for a moment? What kind of woman was she?

Her mouth tasted of Draco and she wanted to throw herself at him and weep in shame all at once. How was this possible? How had he come into her life after so many years, after she had moved on and made her peace with his incessant memory?

Draco's face fell as he watched Hermione pull away and stand on wobbling legs. His heart could hardly contain what he felt at the sight of her after so long.

"I-I have to go," she whispered, unable to look at him. "I shouldn't have come here. I-"

For a moment she couldn't move, even though the right thing to do would have been to turn around and never look back. But how could she do that? Though her foolish heart felt nothing for him in that moment but love, Hermione knew that the full gamut of what she felt for him would soon surface – the resentment, the pain, the rage – all of it. How would she deal with it? How would she be able to face the rest of the world, the life she had made for herself?

"I've so many questions," she managed to choke out, looking away from him lest he see the indecision in her eyes.

"And I fear that I owe you more than the answers I could offer."

The silence seemed to drag out for a thousand years. Hermione trembled as she spoke.

"I'm sorry. About coming down here and about-"

"I am not," replied Draco. "Hermione, you…you are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen."

The last few words were broken by emotion and she snuck a look in his direction, feeling her face grow warm.

_No. No, I can't do this; I can't think about this right now!_

Her heart hammered wildly as she spoke with determination.

"I have to go. If you don't need my help I should be getting back."

She had to go; she had to go join her family. Her son.

_Oh, dear God!_

The enormity of telling Draco that he had a beautiful son caused Hermione to tremble with fear and uncertainty.

_How could I even tell him?_

She was frozen with despair and it gave Draco the opportunity to reach out and wrap his hand around hers.

"I know why you're leaving," he said in a low voice. "It's because of him, isn't it?"

Hermione let out a small, choked sound.

"H-him?"

"I might be considered the pariah of society but I can still read. It's been all over London. When I first heard, I-"

Hermione turned to stare at him blankly, wondering what he was thinking. But his face was a mask of nothing by wand light. But there was something such intensity in his gaze that Hermione had to look away, her mouth going dry.

"He loves me very much," she whispered.

"How could he not?" Draco replied softly.

She was startled by his response and even more so by the profound sadness that she could now see in his eyes. Suddenly she felt a violent wave of rage towards him that made her want to scratch his eyes out.

But she didn't, instead turning to walk from the room, not know what she would do next.

"Hermione."

She stopped by the stairs.

"This isn't how I meant for us to meet; I didn't intend for us to meet at all, actually. I never wanted your life to…"

There was a long, stagnant pause and Hermione fought with everything her not to turn around. It would be for the best; she could not cave.

"I hoped that you'd find your way. I knew you were strong. I knew you were just waiting to thrive, like a flower bud in winter and now look at you! I didn't dream of hurting you like this. I just wanted one glimpse. Just once, to know you were truly happy as I hoped you were. God, I never…wanted it to happen like this!"

She didn't move.

"One glimpse?" she asked icily. "And then what?"

"And then I'd put oceans between us, Hermione. Don't you see? We could never…after everything that's happened, don't you see that the war tearing us apart was the best thing that could have happened?"

There were things Draco had said already that had tempted Hermione to speak, but she had not. But something in his words was so hard and final that it caused her to turn on him.

"You lied to me! You said we could try someday, when things got better, didn't you?"

"Wishful thinking, wasn't it? You saw the world, the way it was headed! We could never have weathered the catastrophe that's happened!"

"We didn't weather it because you didn't want _to try!_ You ran the first chance you got! You abandoned me!"

She was breathing heavily, torn between tears and rage. Rage won the battle.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "You made me wait six bloody years! How could you? How could you have left me?"

Draco had gotten to his feet in hopes to reach out and calm her. Though he knew he would not stay, this was not the way he wanted to remember her.

"I left because I loved you! Look around you, Hermione! Do you think you would ever have had a chance to be anything with me at your side? What we had wasn't supposed to have happened. We should never have fallen in love!"

They stood, pitted against one another in a war of passion and anger.

"But we did! The war didn't tear us apart, Draco. You did, because you were too much of a coward to try!"

Sighing with resignation, Draco dropped his head as if terribly worn. She knew she had hurt him but Hermione was too angry to feel guilt.

His words were low when he spoke.

"I don't have much time. My rations won't last me more than one more day so I can't stay any longer."

Even though she was angry with him, Hermione could not help herself and she reached to stop him from turning even though he flinched at her touch.

"Where will you go?"

"What does it matter?"

"It does," she replied miserably.

"It doesn't matter, Hermione. I just have to keep moving. Too long in one place and…"

Hermione thought of Pansy and what she had heard about the Death Eaters being punished for their crimes. He would be caught; he would be punished and, God forbid, he would be put to death-

_No. _

Taking a huge breath, Hermione reached to clamp her hand around his.

"Don't go, Draco."

His brow furrowed.

"Hermione?"

"Stay. I need you to stay."

Nothing had ever been as important to her.


	62. Chapter 62

_Thanks so much everyone! To all my longtime reviewers and all the new ones. I'm always humbled. Here's more. I must apologize as my updates will be a bit slower now; it's rather busy here. This is all about Dramione so I hope you enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO<p>

* * *

><p>Draco stared at Hermione with disbelief.<p>

"You want me to stay?"

She shut her eyes tightly and took a deep, shaking breath.

"Yes."

Her word was a whisper.

"Yes, I know it's not right but I can't…you can't go."

She had already lost him once and she couldn't – wouldn't – let it happen again. Squeezing his hand once more she swallowed.

"I want you to stay."

There was a pause and Draco hesitated.

"Hermione, you don't know what you're asking."

"I do," she rushed forward. "I know it wrong and it makes no sense but when has _anything_ about you and I made sense?"

He pulled away from her as he shook his head.

"They're after me. Surely you know about the hunters, those that Zabini has-"

Yes, she had known. The growing hatred had spawned groups of concerned citizens who would go out and try and smoke out the remaining Death Eaters and bring them to justice. But justice was no longer fair and concern no longer existed.

Hermione's heart began to beat faster at the idea of walking away from the house and leaving Draco behind to face an uncertain fate.

"Draco, you've tried to help our side! Does that not count for something?"

Her eyes searched his but Hermione couldn't quite get Draco to meet her intense gaze.

"You protected me and you helped me escape! Once the Ministry hears that it won't matter that you have the Mark! It just won't!"

Draco shook his head and a sound escaped him, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was a moan or a chuckle.

"Oh, Hermione, you don't understand…you haven't seen…"

She yanked on his arm.

"Don't tell me what I haven't and haven't seen, Draco Malfoy!" she hissed with menace. "I've been through hell and back!"

"If you had seen the way that Zabini just…turned on us, you wouldn't be spouting the foolishness you are! You do _not_ understand! They still see me as a Death Eater! My fate was decided the moment Zabini took over the Alliance! I wasn't there with him and…well, out of sight, out of mind, yes?"

Hermione stepped back, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that time and circumstance put Zabini and I where we were. He's a former Death Eater turned Alliance war hero and I was too late to join him and so now I am the enemy."

"But you never supported Voldemort! You weren't the only one; there were dozens of others who felt the way you did!"

"And many of them have perished. Our allegiance didn't matter anymore. The things we did were for naught."

He hung his head.

"Where you saw a man who helped save your life, they will see a Death Eater Official who took advantage of a poor Muggle-born girl who had no other choice and used her as his very own whore."

Hermione paled, growing indignant.

"It wasn't like that," she whispered in horror. "I wanted to; it was an agreement and they can't use that against you!"

"They can and they will. They will use anything to vilify us and I suppose in many ways I can't blame them."

Hermione shook her head overwhelmed at the hopelessness of the situation. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Draco spoke again.

"I've escaped from a Death Eater prison camp in Wales, Hermione. I was captured once already and I don't relish going through it again."

"You were captured?"

"The Welsh Ministry supports Blaise wholeheartedly. They were one of the first to put up roadblocks for those of us who fled after the final battle. They captured me, tortured me for hours without end trying to get information I didn't even bloody have! They thought I was traveling with more of them, but I was alone."

He had hung his head in misery.

"They'll torture you and question you until they have what they need or you become useless to them and then…"

The silence was so heavy and implied things Hermione couldn't bear to think about. Reaching out, she clutched his icy hand.

"So what happens now?" she whispered, attempting to hide the horror she felt. "What do you do? Keep on running? Do I pretend like you never walked back into my life?"

Her words were contemptuous.

Draco yanked his hand away.

"I haven't walked back into your life, Hermione! You have a new life and I don't have a place in it!"

She watched as he half walked, half stumbled up the steps to the first level of the house and she followed, unwilling to allow him out of her sight. She had already lost him once.

"Draco!"

He turned to face her.

In the light of the sun that was streaming through the windows of the kitchen he looked even worse. His gaunt face was too white and shaded with the purplish sign of bruises. There were scars fading along his neck and jaw that his silvery beard could not hide and his eyes were deadened and sunk deep into his face.

Hermione was temporarily speechless at seeing him once again even in such a state, but her heart could not deny that he was still beautiful – the same terrible, beautiful man she had fallen in love with so many years before.

Draco sighed with resignation.

"Yes, we go our separate ways," he whispered. "I continue on my way because it is harder to hit a moving target. And you go back to your life and your…"

Hermione stood watching Draco, a desolate expression on her face. He turned from her, his jaw clenching.

"I know it's my fault," he muttered. "But I loathe the idea that you're married."

"And whose fault is that?"

Hermione's voice was strained from withholding anger.

"You're right, it's bloody mine! Now piss off, why don't you?" he fired at her, a world of pain swimming in the deep recesses of his gray eyes.

For one horrific moment they stood there like that before Draco dropped his head, a strangled sound escaping him as he turned away from her.

Hermione stared helplessly at the back of Draco's bowed head. Though she had been content for months, though she knew she loved Neville, suddenly the wedding ring on her left hand seemed the most hateful thing in the world. Her mind began whirling with impossible, irrational thoughts; she knew she wasn't supposed to have them.

The gold band burned against her flesh, reminding her of a promise she wasn't sure she wanted to keep any longer. That same irrational part of her brain hated what she had done, hated her life, and hated everything.

The feeling passed, leaving Hermione cold. But she wasn't confused about Draco's behavior; she understood the dark frustration that had twisted his face as he had lashed out at her. She understood it because she knew how it felt.

She called out to him, though her voice was weak.

"Draco…"

"No, don't. I'm bloody horrid, I know," he rasped. "Trying to make you feel like you did something wrong when you've done nothing more than what I asked you do. You're happy."

She remained silent, waiting for him to continue, certain there was something else he would say.

But there was only the same tense silence.

"He's a good man."

Her whisper was weak.

"He loves me and he treats me well. He takes good care of me and-"

_Leo._

Hermione's heart jumped to her throat making her next breeze wheezy. How could she tell him? Could she even imagine telling Leo how he came to be? Could she risk her own son's life because of what his father had once been?

She felt terribly torn.

_Draco deserves to know, doesn't he? He's lost too much already and two children! How could I deny him the one that lives, breathes and is happy? _

Hermione wrung her hands, her breaths coming shallowly.

_But…Neville is Leo's father too, isn't he? Neville's raised him from birth and I can't do that to Leo!_

She made her decision in one breath, without thinking of the consequences.

Heart pounding, Hermione moved to the bag she had abandoned near the door to the root cellar and plucked it up, rummaging around it to the bottom where she clutched the desired object with trembling fingers. Then she moved towards Draco, holding it out.

"Draco."

"Leave me, Hermione."

His voice was strained and he did not move to look at her, standing in the same, still pose, facing the windows. She reached to touch his arm but he jerked away, causing Hermione to ache just a bit at his rebuff.

"Look," she whispered with growing insistence and this time she tried to pass the small photograph from her hand to his. "Look."

For a moment he refused but then she released a breath as she saw his long, pale fingers take the picture from her. His eyes shifted down to look at it.

The photograph had been taken shortly before Neville's departure to join the Alliance, around the time Leo had turned three. The little curly-haired boy sat on Neville's lap, grinning and waving. Neville was smiling bashfully, his cheeks pink and thick, dark hair messy from his attempts at running after Leo.

Hermione felt a flash of guilt when she saw Draco wince and regretted the decision to show him a photograph of the other man in her life. He didn't need the added pain, did he? But it was too late and Draco was staring down at the photograph with wide, feverish eyes, his pale jaw set with tension.

"Y-you have a son," he breathed.

The sound wasn't altogether harsh, but she sensed a bitter, hard edge to his voice, as if he was trying to hold back…what? She didn't know; Draco was a closed book and would not let anyone read him.

Gently, Hermione's palm came up to cup Draco's thin, bearded cheek. He was warm…so, so warm.

"Yes," she whispered, willing those stormy gray eyes to gaze into her own.

She was pleading with him in silence, praying that he might understand and needing him to look at her as she told him.

Finally, their eyes met.

"Yes…my son," she said again, her throat raw with emotion. Her eyes burned for a moment before sparkling tears welled up within them.

"Our son, Draco. _Our_ son."

The moment of Draco's realization seemed to last forever and Hermione held her breath. She was lost in the depths of his eyes as she had been so many times before. What she found there was timeless and her heart wept at the knowledge that she could not lose herself in him the way she desperately wanted. Nothing had changed, she knew now. Why had time and circumstance not changed their feelings? Why had fate been so cruel? Why had she not waited? There were more questions than there ever would be answers.

Draco's lip twitched slightly and Hermione saw his jaw tremble as his silver eyes began to search her face with growing agitation and panic. He shoved the photograph back into her waiting hands with disgust.

"Don't jest," he spat and then moved towards the windows, his hand clenched tightly together. He may have looked outwardly angry but Hermione could see his eyes and they told a very different story.

"Draco," she said again, her voice soft and sad.

Without thinking she moved to offer her touch.

"I would never lie to you," she said patiently, her eyes boring into his with unadulterated honesty. "Leo is your son."

There was a long, hard silence.

* * *

><p>Draco's initial reaction was to push Hermione away, out of the room, out of the house and out of his life. There was no semblance of peace for him now, not even with the war being over. There was no room for someone to shine joy into his life any longer; he had lost all hope years ago.<p>

And now she was there, reaching to touch him, to pull him closer with those small, warm hands of hers and all he wanted to do was crush her body against his own and let the rest of the world go to the devil.

Draco knew how she would feel; he had never forgotten. The feel of her hair against his fingers, the satiny texture of her flesh, the scent that had so often clung to her…he knew it all, for she had haunted his dark, shattered dreams for countless nights and would not _let_ him forget. He had tried so _bloody_ hard to forget her and everything they had shared because their relationship had been one born from the dark things of life. It had long ago served its purpose and held no worth in a world that was healing now.

Had he been a man of scruples, he would have forgotten her and left her in the past, where she belonged. And even more than that, she deserved something he could never have given her – happiness.

"He's yours."

Her voice had risen above a whisper now, the honeyed dulcet sound causing Draco's eyes to fill with tears of disbelief and shock.

"That last night when we stayed in the barn, don't you remember? Oh, Draco, it was that night. I know it."

Draco wondered if even death would cause him to forget that night and all the nights that he had ever been blessed to spend with her. His heart ached as if a dull object was stabbing it over and over again. He stood watching her tears swimming in his eyes. Why was fate cruel enough to have forced him to give up the only woman he had ever loved and then…flaunt her joy and happiness in the face of his torment?

He closed his eyes feeling the weariness of the entire world settle upon him. His heart thudded and his fingers trembled. A child; they shared a _child._

A dream they had woven together had been realized.

He was not a part of it.

_Why today? Why this house? Why this revelation?_

Somehow, Draco found himself on the ground near the window, staring up at her with red, bleary eyes.

"We…our son?"

Hermione was watching him with hesitation and he swore he saw the hint of a smile.

"Yes."

She fell to her knees next to him, putting her small arms around his body and cradling him so that Draco had no choice but to bury his face against her neck. She relished the feel of his warmth against her body and the scratchiness of his beard against her skin. So much had changed between them but not this – not the way he felt in her arms – _never_ this.

"Oh, Hermione."

The moan was both a lament and a sweet sound. It was a cry for everything he had lost and everything they had ever shared. He cried against the softness of her hair, holding her close.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

The words were muffled and thick with emotion.

Hermione luxuriated in the silky feel of his hair against her fingers as she pressed her cheek against his burning one for a moment, mingling their tears together.

"What are you sorry about?"

"I…I left you. You and the baby and if I had known, bloody hell, Hermione! I wouldn't have left you with such a burden!"

They pulled apart to gaze at each other. Draco's face was married with regret and shame while Hermione offered him a smile through her tears.

"I'm not sorry," she said gently, running a tender hand down along his face. "Leo's my reason for living. Through all the dark times I knew I had to keep on going for him. He saved me just like you did. You didn't know it but you gave me a reason to hang on even when you weren't there."

Amidst the pain they were going through, he found joy, for it resided in the honeyed depths of her beautiful eyes. Draco wondered why he had ever left her for in that moment he had realized that he was home again, after so many years away.

* * *

><p>The photograph sat on the dusty ground between them, Leo waving and grinning up at them in a perpetual painting of child-like happiness.<p>

Draco was leaning against the wall and Hermione knelt next to him, a peaceful expression on her face. Although there was much that lay between them now and too many unanswered questions, she would not ruin the precious moments she was allowed to have with him for she knew they would be few.

She was a married woman and Draco was not her husband. It was a troubling thought in the face of the emotions he had reborn within her. Draco was speaking, his voice alight with excitement.

"What's he like? How old is he now?"

Hermione smiled fondly at the barrage of questions. She hadn't felt joy like this in a long while, she realized, and she wanted the distraction from the gathering of stormy thoughts.

"He'll be five this June."

Then she hesitated, realizing how many years Draco had already lost and the dread she felt at the uncertainty of whether could be a real, true part of Leo's life. But that was for later; she simply wouldn't think of that now! Not when the moment was so full of joy.

Hermione fought against the dark thoughts, smiling at him.

"Leo's brilliant! He's so beautiful! So happy, loving and so smart!"

Her eyes watered but they were shining with the pride that only a mother could have for her child.

"Draco, he was walking before all the other children his age and he….he talks so much sometimes I think I'm having a conversation with a much older boy."

Hermione reached down and picked up the photograph, scooting closer to Draco so they could both see.

"Look at him!"

A tear slipped down his weathered face as he ran his fingers tenderly along the picture, awestruck.

"Just look at him. He's perfect. He's…he's as beautiful as his mother."

Hermione snorted softly and it resting her head against his shoulder seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"You're a fool," she said with affection. "He's got my hair but his eyes…"

She swallowed, recalling too many times how much Leo had reminded her of Draco. She looked up at him for a moment, searching his face as if to memorize it. She studied the line of his nose, the full mouth under the beard and the rugged way his hair curled at the collar of his worn and faded uniform. But it was his eyes that ensnared her every time; the depth of emotion that she found there.

Hermione was riveted in place, her heart galloping weakly as she opened her mouth to speak.

"He looks just like you. I was reminded of you every single day."

"Hermione, you can't imagine how much I've missed you. How seeing you again and hearing about our son has…"

He fell silent, choked up with emotion but his eyes continued what he was trying to say for she saw love shining in their depths.

Hermione felt suddenly warm at the way he was watching her, as if he could see through her to the very beating heart of her. It was wrong; it couldn't happen, not anymore. And the touch she craved, the way his fingers linked with hers was so wrong!

"Draco, please, I can't."

She pulled away with a hint of apology and he fell back, swallowing away his bitterness. Withdrawing his hand left Hermione bereft. The tension between them diminished the earlier joy.

"What did you tell everyone?"

Hermione watched him but Draco did not move his head to deign her with a glance.

"Ginny and the rest of them? Your husband?"

She was both hurt and bewildered by the sudden change in his demeanor for it was like an icy wave had washed over him. A blush colored her cheeks.

"I…I told them that-"

She hesitated, uncertain of herself.

"Ginny knows. Neville thinks you're dead. The rest of them believe you were…you were someone who died. No one knows who…"

Hermione felt herself growing warm with shame. She hadn't thought about her actions and how she was subtly trying to make it so that Leo would never know what his father had been.

Draco snorted, his eyes flashing.

"How convenient for you, then."

Her cheeks flamed.

"You'd mock me for my choices?"

"Of course not."

"I was protecting Leo! You're not blind! You see what's been happening and you said it yourself!"

His face was hard.

"So you lie to everyone you know about what happened between us?"

Hermione's frustration and shame got the best of her.

"You left me!" she exploded. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again so, yes, I was protecting my son because I thought you were dead!"

Draco slumped against the wall once again, his body limp.

"And Longbottom's been raising Leo?"

The sound of their son's name on Draco's lips was surreal for Hermione. She had dreamed about such a moment but had stopped believing it might happen.

"He's been doing a wonderful job," she said emphatically. "He's a good father, Draco. Leo loves him and I can't imagine-"

A storm was brewing in Draco's eyes but his response was interrupted by a faint sound of laughter coming from outside. It was James or Albus, Hermione could tell. And the distant sound made her realize where they were and how long she had been gone.

"Merlin's beard, I need to go!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet and then using her wand to clean herself up quickly. It wouldn't do for anyone to see her covered with dust and dirt.

Draco, who had been silent that whole time, finally spoke.

"I have no right to be angry, Hermione. But it's knowing my son doesn't know I'm his father…"

She stopped, overwhelmed with sadness.

"I know," she whispered. "But Leo couldn't have asked for a better man to call his father. I know that you want to be there but I don't know how on earth I could-"

She studied the planes of his face for a long while, feeling her heart tighten with love for him.

"Draco, don't go, please. I'll come back; I'll come back soon, I promise."

He perked up.

"Will you bring Leo?"

Her face faltered, the color draining from it.

"He's so young! If you're hiding how could we possibly keep him from saying something?"

Draco felt deflated but he nodded. As she gathered her things to go, he felt like a part of him was dying. How he had almost believed he could go on without her was ludicrous.

"Hermione," he began reaching towards her with one hand. She took it, squeezing it between her two small ones.

"I'll be back," she vowed. "I'll have clean clothes, food, a razor…"

There was an uncertainty in his eyes and she wanted to weep. Leaning in closer, she stopped thinking about right and wrong and pressed her lips against his firmly.

"Don't leave," she whispered against his mouth. "Promise me."

Draco even remembered how she would taste – and he relished it for the few seconds he was able to.

"I promise."

She pulled away and then left with one, uncertain and anxious glance back. He wondered how he would ever be able to stay away.


	63. Chapter 63

_Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I appreciate it. Happy Holidays, everyone. This might be my last update for a week or two (depending on how busy it gets with holiday stuff). I hope you enjoy. And yes, I do think Hermione is a bit selfish but I am a cynic. I think love is, in some instances, very selfish. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione's feet were leaden as she moved from the stone house as quickly as she could.<p>

_Draco is back._

Her head whirled with thoughts and her emotions were so out of control she thought she might go insane.

_Draco is back._

In the distance she saw her family; they were tiny dots against a brilliant green, hilly landscape. She could see James and Albus cheering Leo on as he bobbed a few inches off the ground on James' broomstick.

_Draco is back._

The thought echoed over and over with every beat of her heart, like a litany. Her eyes blurred with tears of emotion. Ginny sat to the side with Lily, showing her how to create a crown of flowers using what Hermione thought might be a very simple knitting charm.

_Draco is back._

That same thought, threatening everything she had created, threatening her sanity, her beliefs, her resolve – it threatened the very life she was living. Seamus stood with Neville to the side and they looked deep in serious conversation.

_Oh, Merlin on high, Draco is-_

"Hermione!"

Ginny's exclamation drew Hermione out of her tumultuous, guilty thoughts. The breeze blew strands of Ginny's long, vibrant hair into her face and Lily ran forward.

"Did you buy the house, Hermione?" she called out.

Hermione wondered if they could tell; she wondered if he stain of her sudden and thoughtless betrayal of her new life was etched into her face, or reflected in her eyes.

She looked away from Lily and Ginny, feeling a heavy guilt wash over her.

"The house?"

She turned to look at it, looming now on top of the hill against a bright blue sky.

"I…yes, there was a…the couple there is willing to sell it and that's why…that's why it took me so long, you see."

When she did finally dare to glance at Ginny, her friend was watching her intently.

"Well, that's brilliant, isn't it?"

Hermione swallowed hard but nodded, hoping her outwardly appearance didn't give her away.

"It is."

"You all right, Hermione?"

Lily had noticed Hermione's unrest first and the brunette knelt down in front of the child.

_Balls, what am I going to do? _

"I'm just a bit tired, is all."

There was a silence as Hermione rose, taking Lily's hand in hers and smiling weakly at Ginny. The red-haired woman's eyes flickered with concern but she motioned towards the valley.

"The boys have been flying."

"I know, I was watching."

"Neville and Seamus have been discussing something you're going to love."

Hermione raised an eyebrow as Lily yanked on her hand insistently.

"Neville and new daddy want to build hospitals together with Ministry money! They say it's for the good of the people. Are they right?"

Hermione paused after taking in a sharp breath and looking at Ginny, who offered her an encouraging smile.

"Seamus has wanted to invest our money into something worthwhile and I suppose Neville must have mentioned the funding issue with the shelters. They both think that expanding on Neville's Clinic and building new ones in England and Wales would be beneficial. We could do what we did with the shelters; we could take in those who are hurt and homeless and help them out."

Hermione was speechless, having momentarily forgotten about the shocking discovery in the brick house.

"Hospitals?"

She was only able to utter the one word. Ginny laughed.

"Yes. God love your husband but I imagine he'd prefer working in the hospital environment over spending all his time as the Minister for Magic."

Hermione could only smile weakly as she nodded and Ginny continued.

"This way he's still involved in what he loves and investing some of your own money to help Seamus start this you would be benefiting all witches and wizards. It's really a rather brilliant suggestion."

"Sure, it is!"

Seamus and Neville had come up behind the women, both wearing lazy grins.

"I'm rather brainy, so I am!"

Seamus' cocky grin made Hermione laugh a bit.

"I'd say you were," she agreed and then glanced at her husband. "_Both _of you are."

Her words were sincere and she threw her arms around Neville to hug him tightly for a few seconds.

"I can't wait to get started helping," she said against Neville's shirt.

He pulled away from her and when Hermione gazed up into his eyes she almost expected that he'd be able to tell what had happened in the brick house. But all she saw reflected in his brown gaze was kindness.

_What am I going to do? _She thought miserably.

"You all right, Hermione?"

She jumped away, smoothing her trousers for a few moments, having forgotten how well Neville knew her now.

"I'm fine. I told Lily already that I'm just a bit tired."

"You look like-"

She was thankful for the boys who interrupted whatever Neville was going to say with their whoops and cheers.

"Mama!" called Leo, running up the gently sloped hill as fast as his little legs could carry him. "I was flyin'! I was flyin'!"

Hermione knelt to gather her son and hug him, breathing in his sweet, little-boy scent. It had always comforted her during her most trying moments and this time was no different.

James and Albus caught up, out of breath.

"He was flying!" Albus exclaimed with a huge smile.

"And he was bloody brilliant!" added James.

Ginny put her hands on her hips, offering her son a reproachful look.

"What did we say about that kind of language, James Sirius?"

James managed to look contrite.

"Sorry, Ma."

Then he perked up again.

"But he _was _brilliant!"

Leo beamed up at his mother.

"I'm bwiliant."

Hermione laughed, her eyes watering.

"Yes, you are."

Seamus scooped Lily up into his arms and swung her around in a circle, making the girl laugh.

"What are we doin' standing around here? Anyone hungry?"

Ginny gathered their things and shrugged.

"I could eat."

"You?" teased Seamus. "Now, I could eat the lamb o'Jaysus from between the rungs of a chair!"

Albus laughed.

"Dad, that's silly. You only just had breakfast a few hours ago."

Seamus' eyes twinkled as he laughed.

"Well, I suppose you have a point."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione took Neville's offered hand as she finished picking up Leo's things.

As she followed the group, listening to the light banter around her and basking in the love of the family she had created, the heavy shadow of her newfound secret loomed in the background, in the form of a lonely, brick house.

_I won't think of him now; I simply can't. I'll think on it when I have more time, when Neville doesn't need my help in setting up the groundbreaking for the new hospitals. Yes, I'll think on it then._

But even as she smiled and began to talk to Lily and Albus about what they might have for supper, she couldn't shake the anxious feeling that had befallen her. What would she do now?

* * *

><p>Later that night, as hard as she tried, Hermione could no longer <em>not <em>think about her predicament.

Ginny, Seamus and the children had retired to the guest rooms of Hermione and Neville's home and Leo had long been tucked in to bed and slept peacefully.

Hermione, however, was in turmoil and no less when Neville emerged from the bathroom and climbed into the bed next to her as he buttoned his pajamas. For a few moments there was silence.

She took a breath and looked at him, once more expecting him to know what had happened that day.

"Today was nice," he said softly, making Hermione feel even more horrid. He rested his head on one of his hands, facing her.

"Yes," she said tremulously.

"You liked that house?"

Hermione's heart stopped and then began hammering violently.

"I did."

She turned to face him.

"You sure you don't mind the purchase?"

"We can take care of the purchasing within the next months weeks, I'm sure," he replied with a smile. "I'd like to build in the city first but I don't see why that house can't be turned into some sort of clinic. It's plenty big enough."

Hermione nodded but didn't say anything for a few moments.

"You all right, Hermione?"

"Fine."

Then she rolled over so that she could look her husband in the face.

"Why did you agree to help me when we had that massive row about it just last week?"

Neville looked sheepish and his cheeks turned pink.

"I love you more than anything. And I admire your tenacity and dedication to what you believe in. You only want to help people, no matter who they are, and I can't forget that. It's a horrible world when one looses sight of what's important."

His hand snaked across the crisp bed sheet between them and covered hers.

"I trust your instinct and your ability to make a difference. I'm a Healer, first and foremost and in this way I'll be doing what I love. You've been through so much and you still can find it in your heart to forgive them. If you can do it, I'm going to try to be at least half as selfless as you are."

Hermione shuddered at irony of his words. She was even more disgusted with her own selfishness and frustrated with Neville for his inability to see it. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment before speaking.

"The Death Eaters are atrocious but all we have to do is remember that they're not all evil."

"No," Neville replied but Hermione could tell that he wasn't certain. She knew there was no way to help that.

"What about Blaise? He's determined to go through this eradication and it's really frightening. It's…"

_Inhumane. For those who have been touting peace and equality, it's inhumane._

She thought of Pansy, saw her skeletal, sunken and beaten face in her mind's eyes. Saw what the Alliance had done to the ones who had lost the war – deserving or not. She looked up, searching Neville's face and he sighed.

"It is. I sit in meetings with him while I'm at the Ministry Headquarters and sometimes I don't think he's…"

Hermione swallowed.

"Sane?"

He sighed.

"I hate to say it. It's probably just the war though, wouldn't you think? It changes people; Merlin knows it's changed me."

Hermione looked down, swallowing.

"It's changed me too."

For a long moment there was nothing but silence and then Neville patted her hand.

"Don't worry. We can build in Ireland first. Seamus says that the Irish Ministry is still mostly independent from Blaise's influence. If there's…any of _them_ that can't be treated here we can send them there."

Pansy crossed Hermione's mind once again. Death Eaters is what Neville had meant to say without saying it. She wondered if he would be so accommodating if he knew exactly what Pansy – what some of the others- had been like during those war years. She wondered if he would truly understand if he knew everything she had done and what she had offered to Draco so many years ago. That was yet another thing she didn't want to think about.

"You seem so far away, Hermione."

Neville's voice was as warm as his touch and gently infiltrated her troublesome memories.

"It's nothing," she sighed. "I was thinking about…the past, but that is nothing, isn't it?"

Hermione again searched Neville's face in the nighttime shadows, hoping it was true.

"The past can't influence the present unless you let it," he said, running one finger gently across her cheek.

"What if you feel like you can't control it?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of Draco again, how she had felt that afternoon and the old but very real feelings he had invoked within her.

Neville gathered Hermione against his body so that her cheek was pressed to his nightshirt. She breathed in the soapy scent that clung to him.

"Hermione, I know your past is a horrible one and I don't understand why you feel you can't share it," he began.

She was sniffling.

"But I promise you that so long as I'm in your life I'll try my best to make your future a better one."

He pulled away from her so that she was gazing into his eyes.

"And you try and promise me that one day you'll trust me enough to share what you've been through."

There was hope shining in his eyes and it broke Hermione's heart. How could she share with him the things of her past if that would change the way he looked at her? She knew that he resented the Death Eaters already. Wouldn't more evidence to fuel his conviction only make things worse? She already knew that Neville resented Draco somewhat. How could she make that worse?

Cupping his face in her hands, Hermione leaned in to kiss him.

"You sweet, darling man, I _do_ trust you!"

Her whisper was emphatic.

"And I love you. So much, Neville. You do believe that, don't you?"

Her eyes were wide and searching and a smattering of fear lay in their depths. He pulled her close once again.

"Of course I do," he assured her. "And I love you too, Hermione. You know that."

Hermione wiped at the tears that had escaped her.

"I know you do," she said tearfully. "And I just want you to know that I never…I never want to hurt you. And I don't mean some of the things I've said and many of the things I've done and I just…I don't…I don't deserve you!"

Her guilt had driven her to tears and Neville held Hermione closely, whispering soft, sweet things into her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Of course you deserve me. You deserve only the best," he said in the familiar, self-depreciating way he had. She smiled at his weak joke through her tears.

"You _are_ the best," she said tightening her hold on him. "And I promise you we'll have the life we both deserve. A life where you can do the things you enjoy and where we raise our own children, together."

_I can't do this to him! I'm going to tell Draco he has to go; it's too late for us. I won't hurt Neville; he's my husband I love him! That's all; I just have to be strong._

She stroked his hair absently and allowed his kisses when they came. Then they lay back against their downy pillows.

"I hope so," he said wistfully.

Hermione knew that he wanted his own children; they had been trying for some time. Neville loved Leo but she supposed having your own child was different.

They lay together in silence before Neville spoke again.

"Sleep now. You'll feel better in the morning, I'm sure of it. And if not, I'll fix you something I was working on a few months. Kind of like a Calming Draught."

She shifted in his arms and then kissed his cheek.

"Thank you."

There was no more talk after that and Hermione listened as Neville's breathing grew slower and deeper, signaling sleep. But sleep did not come for her, not for a long time. And when sleep did claim her, her dreams were dark and anxious.

* * *

><p>The following day dawned bright and beautiful, bellying Hermione's dark feelings of anxiety and dread at having to face Draco once again. She fixed Leo his breakfast and then convinced Ginny to wait for her until she returned from a "business" meeting.<p>

She hated lying to her closest friend and especially her husband but Hermione's heart leapt in anticipation of seeing Draco once again. She packed a few bags of essentials Draco might need and even managed to pull money from her own personal savings to give to him…just in case he needed it.

An hour later she stood in front of the brick house staring up at it with a mixture of resolution and fear, both emotions roiling within her so that she thought she would be sick. Gazing around to make sure that no one was nearby to see her, Hermione raised her wand.

"Alohomora."

Her whisper caused the lock to click and quickly, she entered the house. It was cool and dusty, late morning shadows and the sun coming in through the windows causing making floating dust motes visible.

"Draco?"

She hated the sound of her own voice; it was weak and uncertain. She could not allow her resolve to crumble even though the desire to be with Draco warred violently with her conscience.

"Here."

His voice sounded musical and it sent a shiver down her spine. Hermione moved towards the sound.

"I brought food," she called. "Ham and some soup and bread. I also have a few books and a razor-"

She stopped speaking when she turned a corner and found Draco standing just inside a small washroom his shirtless back to her. His body was a painting which depicted the the horrors of war.

_To the victor go the spoils and to the loser…_

His flesh was ethereal and flawless in some places, scarred and battered in others. The trousers hung on his hips accentuating how thin and sick he was though Hermione still saw the glimmer of the lean and strong man he had once been. She squelched the urge to reach out and put her hands upon that body, to offer him a measure of comfort and remind him he wasn't alone.

She fought with everything in her not to do so.

"Draco."

He turned to face her, a look of lingering hope etched in the grayish lines of his face. It seemed to defy the rest of his broken countenance. There was a light glowing in the depth of his gray eyes.

"Did you bring a photo?"

_Leo._

Without wasting a moment, Hermione dropped the bags she had brought and dug around in one to retrieve the requested photograph and place it into his hands. He was shaking with anticipation.

With a silence that seemed beyond the grave, Draco stared at the image of his son and Hermione felt touched to the point of tears at the expression on his face.

"That was last year," she whispered. "On his fourth birthday right after we had cake."

He nodded without looking up.

"Can I keep it?" he asked with a voice that was heavy with emotion.

"Of course, it's yours."

Another lengthy silence blanketed them but it was pregnant with the unspoken things, tense with emotions that seemed to be churning just beneath that stillness between them. His fingers trembled slightly as he continued to gaze at the photograph, admiring the little boy he had never met but with whom he had felt an instant connection.

_My son, he's MY son. My flesh and blood! _

Draco had believed he would never recover from the pain of losing Scorpius. There had been nothing quite like the pain of losing a child – raw, bitter and so sharp that it seemed breathing was impossible. In mind's eye he was reminded once again of that day in the hospital when he had held the tiny, still feverish body of his dead son, rocking him back and forth…back and forth.

This boy in the photograph was a ghost of Scorpius; he was alike and yet so very different. He had the bright, gray eyes of many Malfoys before him but bore a clear, unequivocal resemblance to Hermione. He had her smile and her brown and amber colored curls.

_Our son, alive and well! Our second chance when the first had been taken from us! Our son!_

Joy mingled with the raw pain of loss and regret. Joy worked with fervor to make Draco weep but he would not. He remained stoic. Suddenly he glanced up at Hermione his eyes so intense that she stopped breathing.

"What's he like, Hermione? What are his passions? What does he love? What was he like as a baby! Oh, Gods, I would sell my soul to Satan himself if I could just have the last five years with Leo!"

Tears seemed to threaten him and his handsome jaw trembled.

"Does he speak? What does his laugh sound like? Does he remind you of me?"

Though Draco seemed determined not to cry, Hermione eyes had flooded with hot tears.

"Every day," she whispered sincerely. "I'm reminded of how much he's like you, Draco. Every day, more and more and I want to scream because you haven't had this chance to know him!"

They stood helplessly facing one another the chasm between them a wide and dark one.

"He was a good baby. Sweet and playful. He hardly ever cried except if he was hungry or needed changed."

Her voice trembled with emotion.

"He walked and talked long before other children his age and I…"

Could she tell him? Would it help Draco to know that she had thought of him every time Leo had reached a milestone? That her heart had broken for every day he wasn't there to watch his son grow up?

She couldn't.

Smiling, Hermione locked eyes with Draco.

"He's a happy little boy and has never wanted for anything. He's safe and loved, I promise."

Draco's face twisted down into a scowl.

"And that's supposed to make this guilt go away?"

His fists clenched in anger.

"And all the years and the fucking mistakes I've made disappear? Fucking hell, Hermione! I'm paying a price I don't want to bloody pay! You act like it's supposed to be all right that some other stupid sod is raising MY son?"

Hermione blanched, taking a step away from him and into the deserted hallway. Draco kicked the first bag in his way and then kicked the second.

"You wanted me to stay, didn't you?" he spat at her, his eyes snapping violently. "Why? WHY? So I'd be tormented day and night about the things I did and everything I've lost?"

Tears of shame burned her eyes.

"N-no, I just…I…I was being selfish, I'm so sorry!" she cried out. "I wasn't thinking of you; I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself and those feelings that I felt when I first saw you again…they…they made me forget!"

Her fingers were trembling as she moved to wipe away her tears, wanting to beg him to understand. For a moment there was a heavy silence and Hermione was unable to look at Draco.

She felt his touch after what seemed like a lifetime.

"Hermione, I didn't mean to make your life so complicated."

She couldn't look up at him because she didn't trust her own feelings, afraid that her heart would betray her mind.

"I only wanted a moment to look up on you, to know you were safe before I moved on."

His voice was contrite and her tears only came more quickly.

"And I shouldn't have been so selfish," she muttered, nearly moaning at the aching of loss that had begun in her heart.

"I'll go."

She nodded.

"I know. And I hope…I hope that…"

She fell silent, shuddering. To let him go was nearly impossible but she would do it. She had gone through worse before, hadn't she?

"I'll help you, Draco. Help you leave if I have to so I know you'll be safe."

His brow furrowed.

"I won't put you in jeopardy," he said firmly with a head shake. "You can't be involved."

"I won't rest unless I know you've gotten away safe. It's that simple, Draco. You have to let me help you."

The expression on her face was so furiously intense that Draco felt helpless to argue with her. And he was so drained of emotion he didn't even know if he _could. _He watched wordlessly as Hermione began to gather the bags he had sent askew and finally stooped down to help her.

Their hands brushed and Hermione was suddenly, painfully reminded of how much this man meant to her. She wasn't even able to look him in the eyes though she was desperate to do so.

"Fine."

He paused.

"How can you help me?" he asked hoarsely.

"T-there's money," she pointed out quickly. "And I'm the Minister's wife so they won't…they won't question my actions. I can help you hide and make sure wherever you go next, you'll be safe."

Draco willed Hermione look up at him but she would not.

"And what if you're found out? What if they discover that the Minister's wife is aiding a known criminal? Shaming herself with the likes of a filthy Death Eater? Soiling her snow-white reputation-"

Hermione stopped his sarcastic, hateful tirade.

"I won't be discovered, that's all."

Draco snorted.

"I'm an abomination, Hermione. You're risking everything you've built just to be here with me. Is it worth it?"

Hermione eyes watered and she reached to touch him just for a moment.

"Of course it is! You're a foolish man if you don't know how much I love you."

Her whisper was passionate and it roused in Draco the old, hidden memories and feelings he had never believed he would ever feel.

"Just because we can't be together doesn't mean I don't love you with everything in me. I'll do everything I can to make sure you're safe."

Draco wanted to let the rest of the world fall apart and just Apparate to someplace where there was just the two of them and their son. He wanted a world where they could be happy together and not the world they lived in now.

"Hermione…"

"Don't argue with me."

"As if I could ever win."

Hermione turned away from him and Draco sighed as he watched her bend over to reach into one of the bags and stand up again, clutching a small, tattered stuffed animal and a blanket in her hands. She offered both to him.

"These were Leo's."

The toy was a simple, blue and gray dog, worn and faded from a child's love. The blanket was frayed and blue.

"I wanted you to…have something of his. To know…that he was well taken care of even if you couldn't-"

Hermione was rendered silent at the sudden glittering of tears in Draco's eyes as he clutched the precious objects to himself.

"Oh, God…I wish I…I could see him just once!" he managed to choke out. "I want to know him! I want to hear his laugh to know he's mine and-"

Hermione's heart broke at Draco's poignant agony. It was unfair – all of it – being forced to separate, living different lives, Draco having to hide from the very people he had tried to protect…Hermione could name a dozen things.

But most of all, she felt it was unfair that a father be kept from his son. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand.

"I think I can do something about that," she whispered knowing once again that she was risking her new life and would have to lie to those she loved.

"B- but you told me that Leo couldn't come here?"

Draco spoke the words with a hope and hesitation that tore Hermione apart.

"He won't come here."

Her voice was flat but she was determined.

"What if…what if I helped you see him? Just for a little while? I'm good at bedazzlement and disillusionment charms."

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"You're mental and it's dangerous. What if someone caught wind of what you were doing? What if even through all your charms they have some kind of…magic that…feels out the presence of Death Eaters? You can't hide the Mark, anyway. We've all tried."

He closed his eyes wearily though the idea of seeing his son was driving him mad with hope. She was squeezing his hand again.

"I'll do what I can, I promise. I'll bring him…I can…come once to make final plans on the purchase of this house and bring him with me."

Draco swallowed.

"Oh, God…really?"

"Really."

"I love you."

"Draco-"

"I know," he whispered emphatically. "I know it's wrong but I do and I love you for trying to make this happen for me. I'll never…I'll never be able to repay you."

She smiled.

"It's me who wasn't able to repay you, Draco. I'm only glad I can do it now."

There was a silence between them again and he finally smiled.

"Tell me about our son."

And she did, staying long after she had promised herself she would and leaving with a heavy burden of guilt on her heart knowing she was going back to her _other_ life, more confused that she was when she had come to let Draco go. Now, she didn't know if she _could._


	64. Chapter 64

_Miss me? Sorry for the delay everyone! Here's another chapter; I'd consider this the last quarter of the story now that Draco is back in Hermione's life. She will essentially have to struggle with a double life. Plus, this is where Lavender and Blaise will re-enter the story as well. I apologize if the flow is off; I'm just getting back into the swing of things again. I hope you all had lovely holidays. And thank you as always! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't sure of her direction. She was torn between saying something to her family about Draco and the abandoned brownstone house in the countryside. She knew the right thing to do would be honesty but each time she was close to doing so, she would think of the pain that it would cause Neville.<p>

And she ultimately was unable to do the right thing.

She kept the secret from everyone but that served only to make it nearly impossible for her to break away from her family and work life and see Draco. It pained Hermione but the logical, decent part of her knew it was best because she feared herself around him. She knew sooner or later she would have to see him again because of the promise she had made about Leo.

But it was best if she waited; it would be better for everyone if she worked to strengthen her resolve.

A week later, Neville assisted in the groundbreaking for the new health center and shelter in Ireland and that same afternoon Hermione decided that once Pansy Parkinson was well enough she would send her there without anyone knowing.

She walked into the building where she was keeping Pansy safe and made her way to the back room where she had provided Pansy with a bed and some blankets and extra clothing. Even though it had been weeks now, Hermione doubted Pansy trusted her any more than she had at the beginning.

Hermione explained breathlessly what her plans were and then offered a hopeful smile.

"You'll be safe there."

The dark haired witch watched her with mistrust and in spite of her irritation, Hermione didn't blame her.

"And once I'm well?" Pansy asked weakly.

Her coughing fits had lessened and even now when she did, Hermione didn't think it sounded so horrible.

The shelter had been mandated to be shut down but because the Ministry still owned the building, Hermione had been able to come each day to provide medicine and food to a slowly recuperating Pansy. She paused, spring jacket and handbag on her arm.

"The war took a toll on England and the surrounding areas but some parts of the world are still peaceful. You'll be safe once you leave Ireland; I'll make sure of that."

There was a stark silence as the two women regarded each other for a long moment.

"Why?"

Pansy's ragged whisper echoed in the stillness between them. Suddenly her violet eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Why would you be the one to offer me such kindness? I wake up each day and wonder if this is some sort of…cruel payback for what I have done. I've come to rely on you and you…you have made me well. What if…?"

Hermione took a breath, swallowing back emotions she couldn't express. How could she share both the tremendous pathos she felt as well as the nagging resentment towards everything that had happened.

"Our world cannot heal unless we offer forgiveness."

Pansy's eyes traveled along Hermione's face and then along the length of her neck that the blouse she was wearing did not cover before shuddering visibly.

"I did that."

The whisper was one of shame and Hermione looked down realizing what Pansy was talking about. Her scars. They had faded over the years and with some ointments that Neville had concocted but the reality was that Hermione would always bear the reminder of the horrors she had undergone.

"Pansy-"

Hermione had begun to speak in an uncertain voice but it didn't matter because Pansy interrupted.

"No, don't make excuses for me."

"There weren't any excuses for what you did."

Pansy visibly winced and her violet eyes were painted with shame.

"You're right; I deserve to be reminded of this."

Hermione's face was a stiff mask as she continued to speak.

"I don't need to remind you of anything," replied Hermione. "You won't ever forget."

Pansy turned away from Hermione, moving towards the small window that overlooked a shadowy alleyway.

"It is all I ever knew," she began softly. "Pureblood ideals."

She paused.

"It was my father's beliefs; my whole family believed that way. When…when the war began it seemed the most natural thing to join with the Ministry."

Hermione stood still, listening to the weak, trembling voice of her once nemesis.

"Blaise said so many times that…Voldemort was a man who could unite the wizarding world. He had an ideal and he…was fearless. They all were."

Hermione was horrified.

"Voldemort was a soulless, hateful creature!" she hissed.

"Perhaps he was that. Is evil not glamorous?"

Hermione was silent as Pansy continued.

"Blaise was right to turn from the Ministry when he did. I was a fool to remain but…once I got in with them it is all I had. I chose to unite myself with them in every way possible because I feared my life without my work. Without a purpose no matter how vile."

Her voice was trembling.

"I thought once I proved myself amongst everyone else that…that I would fill that hole within me. I thought I just needed to achieve something…and then something else…and then…"

Her head dropped.

"You forget your conscience after awhile. That little whisper dies."

Hermione watched the dark haired woman press her pale forehead against the windowpane and she took a breath before speaking.

"There are always choices," she whispered but Pansy only shook her head.

"Not after awhile there weren't. I did what I was told because I feared what might happen if I did not. I acted like I felt no fear but that was simply an act. I only knew that after it was too late."

Hermione realized her hands were trembling slightly when she gazed down at them, deep in thought. She knew now that everyone had suffered but even that knowledge would not take away the resentment.

"But the things you did to me…?"

Pansy offered a choked, dry chuckle.

"I was jealous."

She turned and Hermione could see a deep-seated aching in her eyes.

"They say love is blind but I do not think so. I loved Draco; I loved him with everything in me but I could see what was happening. I knew it before it happened and I wanted to stop it."

She took a deep breath, lower lip trembling.

"He was the only good thing I had and I was so sure if I just…if I just had done the right things, said what he wanted to hear…that he'd choose me but he didn't. He married a Greengrass. I chose to believe he didn't love her and that eventually he'd leave her for me. But he didn't. And then…you came along."

Hermione's heart ached as she searched for the right words to convey what she was feeling. It was impossible.

"It wasn't like that between us," she whispered. "Not…not at first."

Pansy nodded, looking away as if shamed.

"I suspected he felt something for you from the beginning. That's why I did the things I did; that's why I held Potter's daughter. I was so certain he would tell you what I had done and that you would take her place."

Hermione's eyes were swimming with tears.

"I would have; he did not tell me until after…until my feelings for him were too much to deny."

Pansy sighed but if she felt even an ounce of the anguish that Hermione did, she would not show it.

"I hated you. That I will not deny. But the things I did were shameful and you're right; they will haunt me until the end of my days."

Hermione shuddered, silent for a few moments.

"That day you helped us escape from the alienage…why did you do that?"

Pansy offered the hint of a sad smile.

"He told me he loved you; it was a hard realization to make but it's true. I had believed that I could never exist in a world without him and so letting him go was easier to accept than knowing I had something to do with his death. They would have killed him had they caught him; they knew all the things he had done for you. I wanted to do something to make up for all the destruction caused by my selfishness."

Hermione struggled to keep from weeping.

"Now you know," she whispered unable to look at the other woman. "How long I've thought about what you did for both of us. You truly are a selfless woman and the truth is he…"

She stopped, choking on her words wondering if speaking the truth she knew would help the situation. She felt Pansy's gaze on her, burning through her and wave after wave of shame crashed against her heart. Pansy had done unspeakable things, it was true. As selfish as she had been, her love for Draco had given her a second chance.

_She is more selfless now than I am! Here I am, lying to my family and husband, afraid that if I tell the truth I'll lose Draco again. She gave him up. I can't do that but she could. Do I really love him? Is this what's best for him? What am I doing?_

Hermione didn't think on it another moment. She reached to grab Pansy's so that they were gazing at one another.

"There's something you need to know. I-"

There was a loud crack from behind them. Someone had apparated. A moment later a much disheveled Neville entered the room.

"Hermione! I'm sorry I'm late. There was too much sodding paperwork at the Ministry office and you know how slow I am with that stuff. I came as quickly as I could-"

His breathless explanation was halted at the realization of who the other woman in the room was.

* * *

><p>The ironic thing to Pansy was the fact that she had found Neville Longbottom to be a fool for as long as she had known him. He had been the short, a bit fat, awkward boy in school. He had been the butt of all their jokes and had bore the ridicule in silence. Then she had thought him a coward. Now…<p>

_Maybe he never was a coward. Maybe that's just what we _thought_. Look at him! Minister for Magic? The man who brought down the Dark Lord? I underestimated him; we all did._

It was oddity and something Pansy had never imagined might happen.

"Pansy Parkinson?"

The voice was the same, she realized. He was still soft spoken, a bit shy.

She gave him a low nod of acknowledgment while at the same time yanking down the sleeve of her worn shirt to hide her Mark. What had once been a symbol of power was now a smear of shame. It was a silly thing to do, she knew, for both Hermione and Neville knew the truth about her. But still she did it.

"Minister," she replied dutifully.

Another strange thought hit her. All the years of working for the old Ministry and she had never once met the Minister. Not until now.

"She was the one I told you about."

Granger's words were soft.

When Pansy looked up she expected Neville to be staring at her with reproach and disgust but all she saw was concern. He reached out and she took an automatic step back, her eyes widening.

"I'm not…trying to hurt you," said Neville carefully. He spoke in a low voice but his words were neither cold nor kind.

Pansy felt color flooding her cheeks.

"N-no, of course not, it's just that…"

Hermione offered a smile.

"He's a Healer. He can help you; that's why I asked him to come."

Pansy felt a flood of shame once more.

_Help me? Do you know the things I've done to your wife? How I've tried to destroy all those whom you support? _

She was frozen in shame, closing her eyes as she allowed Longbottom to examine her. His touch was feather light and for a moment she relished it for it had been a long time since she had felt the touch of another's hand.

"I could…take her with me side-along. To my Clinic," he said warily. "So long as no one knows…"

A pang of anger washed over Pansy and she bit back retaliatory comment, remembering that her days in power were long gone. Now she could hardly say a word in her own defense. But still a part of her wanted to scream at them, to remind them who she was-

_What a fool I am! Even at my lowest point still my pride cries out._

Pansy remained silent, her head lowered meekly.

"She'd be safe in Ireland," said Hermione. "That's why I suggested it."

There was a long silence but Pansy didn't dare look up at either of her companions. Without another thought, she spoke.

"I know I'm hardly in the position to ask you for another favor but I…there are others."

Her voice was weak and Pansy wanted to kick herself. Where had strength gone? Why was she only a shell of her former self? It was frustrating and frightening all at the same time.

"Others?"

When Pansy looked up, Hermione was gazing at her with an unreadable expression.

"The others," she found herself murmuring. "The ones that…survived the battle. B-Blaise…"

She paused, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling visibly.

"Theo…and…"

She swallowed, thinking of the disgusting lakeside camps that the Death Eaters had set up as last ditch efforts at survival. She would never forget the darkness there, the smell of rotting flesh and the taste of fear and death.

Pansy felt Hermione's touch on her arm and it willed her to continue.

"Blaise wants to eradicate those of us with the Mark. Erase the Death Eaters as if we had never existed. He's the same man who had once been one of us!"

Her violet eyes glimmered with unshed tears of frustration.

"After Voldemort fell we all scattered. I've…I've only heard whispers of what might have happened to the survivors. Some have undoubtedly perished by now but others are like me, fleeing from the new Ministry afraid that if…if we don't run fast enough we'll be killed like we're nothing."

Neville interrupted Pansy's raspy words.

"You forget that only a few years ago it was the other way around?"

His words were, once again, without any distinct emotion and Pansy shuddered for indifference was the worst emotion of all.

"I haven't forgotten," she said in a voice that seemed more firm.

Her eyes flashed as she glared at Neville before lowering her head once again.

"They capture us, torture us to the point of death in hopes that we will give up the names of the ones that are still alive," she whispered.

"You were traveling together?" Neville asked softly.

"Mostly together, yes," replied Pansy. "We went into the final battle together, rallying with Blaise to end the war. Most of us had no choice. When…when the fighting was over Blaise turned on us."

Pansy's face was pale and stiff as she reiterated the last moments of the battle, those moments after Voldemort had fallen, destroying the Ministry completely. She told Hermione and Neville how quickly and brutally Blaise Zabini and turned on them, slaying those who were nearest to him and chasing the ones that had been smart enough to flee. She told them of the fear and all that she did not know – how many had survived, where many of them were, and how many were still living now.

"I only know of a small group of survivors," she was whispering. "Some are wounded and certainly dead by now but I promised I would come to London to see if I could find the help that we need. I didn't come here to fight for my own survival, at least that was not the only reason."

A tear escaped her.

"Please, if…if there's any chance that my companions are still living…I beg you to help them."

Hermione held back the gasp that had escaped at Pansy's horrific recollections. She now understood the things Draco had been telling her; he had been one of the captured, tortured for the whereabouts of those that had managed to escape from Zabini's clutches. It still remained to be seen if Draco had known Pansy's whereabouts and lied to protect her or if he simply had fled without knowledge of those whom he had left behind.

Her aching heart thumped weakly and she wondered if anyone could hear it.

"You know what you're asking me?" Neville questioned.

Pansy nodded empathically.

"I know it. But if anyone can help me…"

She swallowed, wincing for a moment.

"I came into London never believing I would be able to find the help I need. But you both saved me! I never imagined I'd survive the end of this war and I have."

She turned her plaintive eyes towards Neville.

"I know my past is a horrific one and I will never make up for all my sins," she whispered. "But if anyone can help me, it is you. You're the Minister."

She gazed at Hermione.

"Show me the mercy I never showed you. Please, I beg you."

Pansy knew that everything in her life had changed. For years she had worked to become immune to the begging and pleas around her. Now, she was one of those who had no choice but to beg.

* * *

><p><em>London, England<em>

_Ministry of Magic_

She stared at the man behind the desk, the silence between them shocking and stark.

"That's it?"

It was different now, the devastation she felt. It was different than all those other times before when she had been lowered to begging, crying and whoring herself to make ends meet. This pain was more poignant, borne of a woman indignant and shocked from disbelief.

She had not expected such treatment – not from the man who had loved and protected her so long Lavender had forgotten what it felt like to be alone and afraid.

She stood in the middle of his massive office staring at him unblinkingly, a prayer of pleading on her lips, whispered but unheard even by her own ears. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the rush of heated blood through her veins.

Blaise did not look up instead intent on the paperwork before him, as if she were not there.

Lavender cleared her throat hating to sound so weak and hurt. She asked him if he could hear her but he did not answer. She spoke again, raising her voice, causing it to crack. She felt pathetic.

"Are you listening to me?"

Louder this time until Blaise tossed aside the quill he had been holding with a violent swipe.

"WHAT?"

Lavender stood rooted to the spot, her mouth hanging open and her heart breaking. After all there was no mistaking the annoyance in the tone of voice he used with her.

"How can you dismiss me like this?" she asked, fighting tears.

She closed her eyes and willed him step closer to her so she could feel the warmth of his strong arms around her and the scent of his morning aftershave. She _needed_ him; the feeling of being without him was one of loneliness. She was _so cold._

_I won't panic; I can't. I can't just let him make me feel like this!_

But her mind would not listen and Lavender felt her heart begin to race with anxiety. How would she go on if the man she had fallen in love with was no longer there? How could she even think of a life without-?

"I am busy."

Even his voice was cold and flat with indifference. Lavender wanted to weep; she wanted to pick up every object in the room and hurl it in his direction screaming at him to open his eyes and realize that he was destroying everything that she had build her life upon! He couldn't see her crying; he couldn't see that all her dreams were dying.

_I love you, Blaise! I've loved you for so long! Why would you do this-?_

Lavender's mind was racing with fear of the unknown, her hands like ice. So, so _cold._

"I only want to speak with you-"

His dark eyes flashed as Blaise stood and came around the side of his large, wooden desk.

"Talk, talk, talk!" he spat. "It's always about what you want to do, isn't it?"

His words mocked her, bringing fresh, hot tears to her dark blue eyes.

"It's not about what I want!" she cried out with anger and hurt. "It's about our relationship!"

Couldn't he see? Did nothing matter to him anymore? He was destroying her with his indifference. How could someone that had loved her so much before cause her such pain now?

Blaise stared at her with indifference.

"We've talked about this before," he stated dismissively. "I told you, things have changed. You either learn to understand that or you are free to go."

Lavender paled. No. No, she couldn't. She wasn't able to live without him!

"W-what about Daisy? What about the fact that I can't-"

He interrupted her faltering pleas with his own brusque words.

"You can do whatever it is that you set your mind on. I know that and so do you. Do not mock my intelligence by playing the damsel in distress. You have everything you have ever wanted and need, do you not?"

He waved her off then.

"Is this…_thing_…between us necessary any longer?"

Lavender held back a gasp at the way he had dismissed what was most important to her. It was only a few words, uttered with such a quiet, cold manner and yet the managed to break her apart right down to her soul.

_How can you be doing this to me? How can you dismiss me like I am nothing? Why do I still love you? _

She felt more used than she had in her worst moments. Whoring did not feel like this; giving her body had been nothing compared to giving her heart – and now she could not have it back.

Yes, Blaise was right. She had everything she had ever wanted. Comfortable, beautiful clothing and a large, airy, gorgeous house. Daisy had just started the most elite preparatory school for children her age and everywhere she went, Lavender was treated like she was something important. When she had been at her worst moments in life she had dreamt of one day being where she was now.

But in spite of all that, Lavender found that her happiness had been complete in the circle of Blaise Zabini's arms and even though she was his wife she knew he no longer esteemed her as anything but a nuisance. She had been happiest years before, hiding out from the Ministry in Paddington, a whore who had fallen in love with a Ministry official.

Now she was…

_Nothing. I'm nothing! I have everything and yet…_

She wanted to mean everything to him again! Why had he changed? Why had the war destroyed everything she had ever dreamed of and believed in? Blaise was changed; he was a terrifying shadow of the man he had once been – the man she had fallen for so many years ago.

Blaise gripped her upper arm more tightly than was necessary but Lavender did not flinch.

"Will you leave me to my work?"

She managed a strange, warbled reply that made no sense.

"And you will be attending tonight's gala for the opening of Longbottom's network of medical clinics?"

This time his voice was less business like and tinged with disdain and Lavender glanced up to search his dark, handsome face.

"You're planning on attending? I thought…I thought you had said the other night that his decision was rubbish-"

Once more he interrupted her as if her thoughts no longer mattered. She wondered if he even knew she was in the room when the manic look would come into his eyes. That was when he was the most frightening.

"It is rubbish! But what would it look like I was not there?"

He let her arm go, flinging it away.

"Longbottom is a fool and that wife of his is nothing but trouble!"

Lavender knew better than to reply when Blaise was in one of his _moods. _She knew that the new Minister hardly ever did anything without consulting his advisors and his wife; he was different than any other man who had ever held the post of Minister for Magic. And she could never recall from the fuzzy memories of their school years that she had believed Neville capable of holding said position. And yet, there he was…and here _she_ was struggling to hold together any semblance of the life she had created for herself and her family.

If only Blaise-

"I can't believe that poor sod accepted the position of Minister knowing full well he's hardly capable of doing to job! Were I the Minister I would have captured the remaining Death Eaters still on the lose would be dead and gone by now! He's a soft-hearted fool!"

Blaise was raging mad.

"And now that silly bint he calls a wife is interfering with-"

He cleared his throat staring down at Lavender.

"Wear the blue dress, won't you?"

She wasn't able to pull away as Blaise tapped her cheek firmly with his hand as if she were a friend and not a lover.

"You always look good in blue."

Lavender stood rooted in place where he left her, listening as the door of his office shut behind him. When she knew she was alone, she slipped to her knees, covering her mouth with trembling hands and crying silently.

Her life was no longer the one she wanted; the love she held in her heart meant nothing to the man she felt it for. She was at best an irritation to him now. And she wasn't she wanted to know what he felt for her at her worst times. And it hurt.

* * *

><p>The candles in the hall glimmered as Hermione moved across the room to adjust Neville's bowtie.<p>

"That blue is so lovely on you," he said fondly. "But then again, you always look breathtaking in that color."

Her dress was form fitting and made of the softest satin, clinging attractively to her curves. It had beading on the bodice that sparkled in the dim lighting.

"You're sweet," Hermione replied, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek tenderly. Then she frowned, leaning to grab her clutch purse. "Are you sure you want to go to the gala tonight? These clinics were really my idea and I think I can manage if you didn't want to be there. I know how you hate the large crowds."

Neville smiled, shrugging on his long coat.

"Sometimes I think you forget I'm the Minister."

She smiled at his gentle joke.

"Never. There's no man better for the job," she said slipping her hand confidently in his. The walked down the empty hallway, down the stairs, and to the large fireplace that served as a connection to the Floo Network.

She stopped him just as the green flames burst forward.

"Neville."

He looked at her quizzically and Hermione took a deep breath.

"Thank you for agreeing to help Pansy Parkinson."

Neville sighed audibly.

"I wish you'd tell me what I don't know, Hermione."

She paled and was glad for the darkness wondering if Neville would be so understanding if he knew that Draco had something to do with her decision in helping.

He pressed the issue for a moment.

"What happened between you two?"

"I can't, Neville. I won't. It's in the past."

There was a quiver in her voice and Neville finally sighed in defeat.

"Fine."

The flames grew.

"Look, you're my wife and if…well, if you believe helping her and those…others…"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't want you to feel like…"

Neville stopped her words.

"I told you already. I'm going to help you with this. I want to."

Hermione finally sighed and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment hoping the restlessness in her heart would be calmed by his assurances and presence. She had already admitted that she had been shaken deeply by the plight of the remaining Death Eaters. And now she couldn't turn back; she had to help them. She only hoped that it would not prove dangerous.

Neville reached to tuck a strand of chestnut-colored hair that had escaped her glittery combs behind her ear.

"We'll move them quickly, Hermione. No one will know."

She bit her lip.

"I know," she whispered. "Thank you."

"I'll never understand you," Neville replied. "But I love you."

"I love you too."

His kiss did nothing to quell the storm within her. For a moment there was only the whooshing sound of the flames before them.

"Just promise me you won't say anything to Blaise," Neville said with a light laugh for neither knew the seriousness of the situation.

"Perish the thought."

Hermione offered a laugh she did not feel, not wanting to know how angry Blaise might get if he knew the Minister for Magic was helping the Death Eaters. She smiled at her husband.

"Are you ready? We should get going; I don't want to keep your adoring public waiting."

Neville blushed and Hermione was glad that this, at least, had not changed. But she knew everything else had.


	65. Chapter 65

_This one's a bit longer; I wanted to give you some more Dramione and maybe some plot progression. The bad news is that I'm going away in a week and a half so I might not realistically be updating again until mid-May. Boo. Thanks always for your kind words; I always appreciate them. And there's warning for some sexy scenes at the end of this chapter – just letting ya'll know! Enjoy._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p>The music that played throughout the huge room was soft enough to encourage conversation between everyone who was in attendance of the gala. As Hermione spun around the dance floor in Neville's arms as gracefully as possible given his two left feet, she nearly stopped when the double doors opened and Blaise Zabini entered with Lavender on his arm.<p>

It had been ages since Hermione had last seen her former classmate. The last time had been the night of the horrific alienage fire – a night Hermione had desperately prayed to forget even though all her prayers had been in vain. Although she had attended many functions on Neville's arm since he had become the Minister, Blaise had always come alone. It was odd, Hermione knew, but then again, she was not sure about Blaise or his intentions.

Lavender looked different. She wore a full formal gown of a royal blue which was fitted around the waist and fell to a full skirt that brushed the tips of shoes that had been clearly made to match the sparkling, flowing material of her dress. Her golden hair gleamed under the lights in the room and it was adorned with a number of sparkling combs.

Her face was fuller now, brighter, and had lost the hard, hungry edge that Hermione could still remember from the first night Lavender had arrived at the alienage. For a moment she couldn't look away and when she finally did, Hermione offered up a prayer in hopes that Lavender had found happiness.

She wanted to go over to her, to say hello, but each time she attempted to break away from Neville, he would be surrounded by his familiars and other officials and she knew that he hated to face them alone and so she stayed, hoping that she would eventually have a moment to speak with Lavender. As Hermione waited for an opportune moment she found herself watching the couple closely. They were lovely together, she realized. Blaise Zabini was a man that demanded attention even though he did not seek it. Something about him was intrinsically captivating – she could easily understand how Lavender had found herself in love with him.

He stood tall and regal and his posture was stiff as if he wanted to stand above those around him. He wore a simple black suit; it was the same suit she had seen him in at all the formal events. It had a stiff, crisp collar and his trousers were neatly pressed. She had noticed that the man always appeared as if he was hiding something and she wondered if that were so.

Hermione had no reason to dislike Zabini. After all, he had been pivotal in the freedom of all those she had loved at the alienage. He had helped Muggle borns escape throughout the war. And not only that but Draco had trusted him. And yet there was something…unnerving about the man. She thought he looked too suspicious, his dark, glittering eyes predatory in a stern, shadowed face. He rarely spoke and smiled even less. Though unquestionably handsome, he had grown too austere and cold.

It was odd then that despite the coldness he exuded, Blaise's eyes were feverish – always vigilant.

_It's as if he's still…hunting. What is he looking for?_

Hermione found herself curling closer to Neville and looking away from Blaise who stood on the outskirts of the crowd. She thought of Pansy and the others – the ones she was now protecting – and wondered what Commander Zabini would think. She smiled dryly to herself, shaking her head. It was best he never find out.

Neville had seemed to read Hermione's emotions and when they were alone for a brief moment he glanced back towards where Blaise stood.

"Odd bloke," he muttered glancing down at her. She could only nod.

'Odd' seemed a mild word.

It was only an hour later when Hermione was standing near a table laden with all manner of luscious desserts that she ran into Lavender.

Both women had reached for the same chocolate éclair and when Hermione looked up to see who was standing in front of her she held back a gasp. The first thing she noticed was that from far away, Lavender had seemed the picture of happiness. It was different up close.

"Lavender!"

Hermione wondered why it was difficult to smile.

"Hermione."

There was an odd sort of pause as Hermione struggled to find something to say. She was incredibly overwhelmed at seeing Lavender again after so long but it did not appear that the blond woman felt the same way. In fact, she was disturbingly unemotional.

"It's…b-been so long," Hermione began in a weak voice. Then, taking a huge breath, she commented on the obvious.

"You look beautiful."

Lavender's blue eyes flickered up towards Hermione face as she opened her mouth to speak.

"So do you."

Her words, just as her expression, were lackluster. Hermione wondered for a second if perhaps she was going crazy because she detected an undercurrent of resentment that lingered in Lavender's tone.

Feeling more nervous than she ought to have, Hermione began to speak again.

"I-I had wondered what happened to you…after-after the alienage," she nearly whispered now.

Somehow in light of the new world and her new life, she hated to even think of the alienage let alone speak of it. "I'm glad to see that you…found your family again."

Lavender looked towards her husband who stood in the same place he had been standing in for over an hour and her face grew dark.

"Yes."

This time the words held an unmistakable hardness. Her eyes had iced over.

"You know what they say, Hermione. Be careful what you wish for."

Hermione was struck speechless at the sudden bitterness in Lavender's icy words. But it didn't matter because Lavender continued to speak.

"I suppose you don't understand how that feels though, do you?"

Hermione stiffened feeling suddenly defensive.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

Lavender offered a tiny smile.

"Oh, no matter. Why are we talking about me anyway?" she continued infusing her voice with a brightness that made the tension between the two women even more obvious.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed. "The wife of the Minister! I never imagined that! Did you?"

Lavender's eyes bore into Hermione's with such intensity that the brunette had to look away, feeling self-conscious.

"Never," she admitted though she still felt uneasy in Lavender's presence. "Neville and I…we crossed paths again long before he took the post."

"I see."

Lavender took a step closer, cocking her head for a second.

"What about Draco?"

Her voice was low now and Hermione was glad for it.

"What about him?"

"Did he abandon you?"

Lavender's tone held a touch of mock concern and now Hermione knew that the contempt she had sensed before was really there. She felt herself pale.

"He died."

The lie came naturally for there were warning bells going off in Hermione's head now.

_Don't tell her anything. Whatever you do, say nothing._

Lavender's blue eyes scrutinized Hermione's face for a moment before she spoke.

"Such a shame. When love dies like that, no?"

Hermione felt scrutinized; she felt as if Lavender could not only understand her expression but read her very mind. She battled with the foreign feeling of paranoia that was threatening her.

Instead, she lifted her chin, nodding.

"It is. In spite of the fact that we haven't always gotten on so well I'm glad that you were spared such a fate."

Lavender's eyes narrowed a fraction and Hermione watched her jaw moving as if the other woman was gritting her teeth. For a moment there was only tense silence and then the blond woman forced a smile.

"It is a good thing that fate spared us _both_ such a fate then? You have clearly moved on from Draco's death."

Her intense blue eyes had left Hermione's face and lingered on Neville for a moment though no one could hazard a guess to what she was thinking. Hermione chose to remain calm in spite of the feeling of anxiousness that was nibbling at the edges of her consciousness now.

"Yes."

"You have a son?"

Hermione took a breath realizing that being the wife of the Minister meant that others would know her family situation whether she liked it or not.

"Yes. Leo."

Lavender offered another smile that never reached her eyes.

"We're both mothers now, Hermione. It's…"

She paused in what could only be called a calculating fashion.

"It's rather amazing though isn't it?" she asked, her eyes moving back towards Hermione slyly.

"What is?"

"You and I…where we are now? Considering where we were only years ago."

Hermione began to grow cold from a heavy, oily feeling that was filling her belly. Thinking about the past was still often paralyzing if not always a source of despair.

"We only did what we had to, Lavender. None of those things in our past really matter now."

She stepped closer to the blond woman because her first instinct was to make sure that no one overheard the conversation. Lavender offered a gleeful laugh.

"No?"

Then her face melted into a smile.

"Neville must know then, yes? After all, if those things we did back then don't matter now…?"

She cocked her head.

"Blaise knows what I was," she finished. "Does Neville know that you whored yourself out to a Death Eater?"

The question wasn't threatening; Hermione found that it was quite casual and watched with horror as Lavender ran her fingers along the dessert table, contemplating what she would have.

"I apologize for putting you on the spot," she continued obviously rather glad that she had finally hit upon something to make Hermione feel awful about. "But Blaise and I have discussed it for ages and I suppose I just forget that…well, that others might like to hide that part of their lives. You know, the _dirtiness_ associated with being a Mudblood whore."

Her eyes gleamed as she chose a small chocolate confection.

"But surely, Neville understands? He's a good man."

Hermione stared at Lavender with disbelief.

"Are you threatening me?" she countered, her posture stiffening.

Lavender blinked an innocent expression on her features.

"Why would I do that?"

Hermione felt anger surge through her as she glared at Lavender.

"Neville doesn't know. He doesn't _need_ to and I intend to keep the past where it belongs."

As she spoke Hermione felt guilt needling at her. She had kept the truth from Neville because of her selfishness and fear. What if he didn't understand? What if they found out about Draco? She couldn't imagine it.

Lavender was nodding as if she understood.

"Of course, you're right," she soothed. "If Blaise didn't already know I probably wouldn't tell him either."

The sympathy reeked of insincerity and suddenly Hermione wished she had never run into Lavender Zabini.

"In your situation it's even more delicate, you know," she continued softly, stepping closer to Hermione. They were only inches apart and the sweet scent of lilacs that clung to Lavender's hair made Hermione's stomach roil.

"Your husband is the Minister for Magic!" she exclaimed with a vapid titter. "Imagine what people would think if they knew his wife had at one time whored herself out to a Death Eater! What would the public think of him then? And what about your son? Would he understand?"

Hermione's eyes suddenly burned with unshed, scalding tears of shame and she took a step away, swallowing back a sob.

"You loathsome bitch," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Why don't you let the past well enough alone?"

Lavender smirked.

"Look in the mirror, Hermione. At least I don't make pretenses for what I am. I've accepted my lot in life a long time ago and I'm not trying to cover up my dirty past with nice things, a new family and my good deeds for the new Ministry!"

Hermione grew defensive.

"I'm trying to help!"

"You're trying to make up for everything you've done in the past! Well, guess what? That sort of thing doesn't go away!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Don't you worry about that, Hermione, I plan on it."

She stepped away a nasty expression on her face.

"Just remember. Secrets don't stay hidden forever."

There was a horrible, tense silence before Lavender offered a smile that was as innocent as a baby.

"It was lovely to see you again, Hermione. I wish you well; we both deserve it after the hell that we went through during the war."

Hermione was left standing by the dessert table watching Lavender move through the crowd to find her husband. As hard as she tried, there was no way to erase Lavender's words or knowing, cold look lingering in her eyes.

And later that night, Neville could not understand why Hermione refused to sleep in their bedroom, opting instead to curl up on a chaise near Leo's bed and not emerging in the morning, not even to see him off to work.

* * *

><p>On the following day, Hermione and Leo stood at the crest of the grass covered hill leading up to the brick house – the house Draco was hiding in – as she tried for the thousandth time to shake off the anxiety that had settled on her soul after her run-in with Lavender.<p>

The sun shone down brightly from a clear, blue sky.

"Mama, its gonna be a hot one, isn't it?"

Hermione glanced down at Leo to find him gazing up at her.

"Who says so?"

"Daddy does."

She held back a choked sound. 'Daddy' coming from Leo's lips meant so much to Hermione but she also knew that she was allowing her son to live a lie. In fact, she was leaving _no one_ a choice. Blinking away a sudden heat behind her eyes she took a breath.

Neville had set off that morning for a two day trip in honor of the groundbreaking in Ireland. She had decided that it was now or never; Draco deserved to at least know what his own child was like just in case he never got the chance to _meet_ him. Therein lay the biggest problem for Hermione. How could she risk her child's life? In this new world she and Draco had even less of a chance than they had in the previous.

_Did we ever have a chance at all? _

Not even the thought of Lavender and Blaise having made it through the war together warmed Hermione now. She knew whatever was between that couple was not enough to sustain joy; she had seen nothing but despair in the depths of Lavender's eyes.

_Would it eventually have been the same for Draco and me? Perhaps we did the right thing?_

She stared down at her son's hand in hers, Neville's wedding ring gleaming on her ring finger. The longing in her heart began to weep. How could it be the right thing if so much of her heart lay with the man hiding in the house before her?

She missed Ron; her love for her first husband had been uncomplicated in the light of everything that had come after. She missed the innocence of childhood, of her school days. She missed her friends and her parents. She missed Luna.

_I miss the peace that the ending of the war should have brought._

Leo pulled on her hand with insistence.

"Mama, what are we doin' here?"

Hermione knelt by Leo's feet and offered her son a smile.

"You learned how to fly here! I thought we could have a picnic and practice on that broom again. Would you like that?"

Leo looked from his mother to the large house standing atop the hill.

"That house is scary, Mama. Kinda like its ahaunted."

Hermione startled for a second wondering if Leo had seen the rustling of a curtain or a set of gray eyes watching them from the inside.

"Haunted? What do you mean?" she questioned mildly, lifting up the small picnic basket she had packed and handing Leo his broom to hold.

"_You_ know, Mama," he explained with self-importance. "Like _ghosts_! Albus tells me stories."

"Well, Albus should know better than to tell you ghost stories. You're too young."

"I am not too young! I like them!"

Hermione led Leo up the small hill.

"You know they're just stories, don't you, Leo?"

Leo looked thoughtful for a moment and Hermione found a place under one of the trees by the house where she put down their basket. Using her wand she quickly spread a blanket upon the grass and turned to her little boy.

He was watching the house with a strange look.

"I believes in ghosts, Mama."

Hermione, too, glanced at the house. She saw nothing but the fine, brick masonry and clear, tall glass windows. That's when she noticed the far left one, the one nearest their picnic spot, was wide open.

_Draco, can you hear us? _

Shivering a bit, Hermione concentrated her focus on Leo once more.

"Ghosts don't scare you?"

"No. Ghosts can be good. James says his daddy he was born from is a ghost."

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she sank down on the grass to listen to her son. She was forever fascinated by his brilliant mind even at such a young age.

"Really?"

"Yes, Mama! Ghosts are just people who have dieded already."

He was watching the house again and Hermione took a moment to admire her son. He looked more and more like his father every day in his words and mannerisms and especially in that moment, when he was 'teaching' someone something he didn't know they already knew. His eyes always lit up and there were beginnings of a self-confident smirk on his lips.

That, more than anything, was just like Draco.

"Albus says that good ghosts watch over people like me and you. He says that Dumbdoor watches him."

Hermione tried not to giggle as Leo continued.

"That other one watches us too, Serve…"

"Severus?"

"Yes, him."

Hermione smiled.

"Maybe."

She began to pull out the fixings for their lunches as Leo continued to watch the house curiously.

"Lily says that my real daddy that dieded watches me."

Hermione felt her breathing grow shallow and she nearly dropped the small loaf of bread she had packed. She glanced up at Leo with masked sympathy and sadness.

_Oh, Leo. Your real daddy is watching! And he's not as dead as you think! If only we hadn't been separated! If only we could be a family!_

"He definitely is watching you, Leo."

Her words were a bit shaky with grief and regret but Leo didn't seem to notice.

"Lily says that her Mama's Wheeze family watches them too."

This time, Hermione giggled.

"I think they are," she replied as she began to work on their sandwiches.

"What's funny?"

Leo sat down on his knees to watch his mother make their food.

"Nothing, love."

Hermione set aside the food and opened her arms wanting to hold her son.

"Can you give your Mama a hug and kiss?"

Leo did so willingly, always an affectionate boy.

"Only 'cause you're my Mama and not 'cause you're a girl. Girls are gross."

His expression was so much like Draco's that Hermione nearly wept.

"You'll change your mind someday, Leo."

"I won't!" he said with confidence.

But he hugged and kissed her and Hermione held on for a few seconds, running her fingers through his auburn curls. Then she pulled away and pointed towards their sandwiches.

"Do you want to eat first and then fly?" she suggested.

Leo shook his head and scrambled to his feet.

"Let's fly first! I wanna show those ghosts how good I am!"

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately but allowed Leo to grab his broom and run ahead of her towards the crest of the hill. Then she watched and cheered him on as he attempted to levitate himself on the broom. Each time he did so he would clap his hands together with delight. When he grew tired of the game, he ran across to where his mother had sat down to watch him.

"Mama, I think I'm so good I can go to Hogwurtz."

Hermione laughed.

"You're good, Leo. But I think you have to wait to learn magic. You've got a few years yet," she reminded him, her heart clenching for a moment at the thought of having to let her little boy go someday.

"I wanna go now! James says that Hogwurtz fell down 'cause people were in the war for too long and stopped caring about other stuffs."

Hermione sighed.

"It didn't fall down, Leo. It's just that with the war there was no time for school and things like that."

"Those no good Defeater-"

Hermione cut her son off in the midst of his sullen diatribe, pained as she always was at the words that fell from his lips. Words he didn't even understand the meaning of.

"Leo Frederick Etamin!"

"Sorry, Mama," came his reply.

There was a quiet pause as Hermione gathered her thoughts.

"One day soon, Hogwarts will re-open. Now that the war is over people can live their lives again. You'll see. James, Albus and Lily will go to school. So will Luna's boys. And when you get old enough, you will too."

The answer and Hermione's firmness seemed to mollify the small boy who nodded back towards his discarded broomstick.

"Can I fly again?"

"Why don't we eat first?" she suggested softly, getting back to her feet as Leo ran a few feet away to claim his abandoned broom. Although it was evident he did not want to eat, he knew better than to argue with his mother and so they headed back towards the grove of trees where their lunch awaited.

Hermione glanced back at the house just in time to see a rustling from the open window and a flash of white-blond hair.

_Draco._

* * *

><p>Hermione had allowed Leo to join Neville for the ceremony later that evening and after her son had taken the Floo from their home she was left alone. At first the curiosity over what Draco had thought of his son was a dull ache but by an hour's time the pull was irresistible and Hermione found herself standing before the house again, this time alone.<p>

She let herself in using her wand and then stood in the dark confines of the cool, dusty house. There was no sound and for a moment she listened to the rattling beat of her heart before walking down the empty hallway into the room where she had found him the first time.

He was there again, facing away from her, the cool evening air coming through the still open window, and did nothing to acknowledge her presence.

"Did you see him?" she whispered.

Hermione watched Draco as he turned from his place by the window and suddenly, in one graceful movement, he stood and violently shoved the chair he had been sitting in.

"I fucking _hate_ this!"

Hermione backed away, wincing at Draco's tone, a shudder of fear running through her. She hadn't seen such a dark look on his face in ages.

"What-?"

"This whole time, Hermione? This whole time you've let another man love MY SON!"

Hermione was overwhelmed by his emotion unable to comprehend what he was trying to say because it made no sense.

Draco was pacing back and forth, oblivious to the bout of pain that he had just caused Hermione. She gasped for air as her eyes burned with tears of pain and anger.

"How could you say something like that?" she whispered brokenly. "After everything I've been through?"

Her voice began to tremble with suppressed rage.

"Do you really think I've spent the last five years wondering what it was I could do to make you hurt the most? Do you think I believed you were alive?"

She stalked across the room, shoving aside the chair and raising her wand against him. Draco's eyes widened as she jabbed him in the chest almost viciously. He had no wand to protect himself and Hermione realized how the tables had turned.

"You loathsome prat!" she raged.

Draco stumbled back against the open window his face twisted in rage and jealousy.

"Leo is _my_ son!"

His cry was hoarse and broken.

"My blood Hermione! Mine and yours and he's home now probably telling another man he loves him! It's so _fucking_ unfair!"

Hermione saw tears glittering in his eyes.

"He'll hug my son and tell him he loves him and get to spend every waking moment watching him grow, change and become a man! Don't you understand? Do you have any inkling of how that makes me feel, Hermione?"

Though she knew that he was deserving of the anger with which he had lashed out at her, Hermione was too angry to think straight.

"You bastard!" she screamed, launching herself at him and clawing down his shirt viciously. For a moment she had trouble gripping the solid muscle of his body but she found purchase within moments and began to pound against him with her small fists.

"I hate you!" she sobbed, tears streaming down her face in burning streaks. "I hate you! I hate you!"

Each word fell from her lips with more and more venom. Hermione took pleasure from the feeling of her fists connecting with his flesh.

"You spew your selfish garbage and you haven't an inkling of how I FEEL!" she screamed at him tearfully. "The things I've endured after you ABANDONED me!"

She was growing tired but Hermione wanted to remain strong and angry even as she was weeping in rage.

"How could you have left me?"

Draco grabbed onto her failing hands to try and keep her from going for his face.

"Hermione! I did it for you! Because I knew what was coming and I knew that you deserved a better-"

One of her hands broke free and she smacked him hard.

"Don't you dare say anything! Don't you dare spew you lies about why you abandoned me, you coward! You made me love you! You made me understand how much I loved you and then you left me! And now you had the nerve to be upset that someone else is raising your son? Do you know how difficult it was for me to move on?"

Her body had gone limp against his now, and she was awakened by the feel of him against her, the heat of his body pressing against her flesh.

"I know!" he exclaimed angrily. "I know it was hard for you but it was better for you in the end!"

Hermione pulled away from him, her face paling.

"I would have rather died in your arms while trying to run away from the Ministry than to have spent the last five years without you!"

Draco looked crestfallen as he reached for her.

"Don't touch me," she growled but till she watched as he reach to pin her against the wall by the window.

Her face felt too hot as the night breeze ruffled the curtains and as his body came to rest against hers she felt a whisper of need stir in her belly. A need that he had created in her years ago. She felt herself melt against him even as she struggled against the feeling. It was wrong; she couldn't. She wasn't with Draco any longer; she had married someone else. She had moved on with her life and she couldn't-

"I was so afraid, Hermione," he whispered.

She felt the smoothness of his face against hers now, his whisper making her shiver.

"I was terrified that I would destroy you and that my choices would put you in danger. I'm a Death Eater for Merlin's sake!"

His fingers tightened on her flesh making it impossible for Hermione to pull away now.

"I only wanted to see you for a moment, to glimpse you and know you were all right! I never wanted to hurt you or our son!"

Hermione stopped struggling now and reached up to run her fingers along his skin just as she had wanted to do again from the moment they had been reunited.

"Draco…"

"I thought I was strong. I thought I could resist you but…oh, God, Hermione!"

His lips pressed against the messy curls that fell around her shoulders and found their way across her forehead and her flushed cheeks, raining along her chin before finally finding home against her own.

"I love you," he muttered against her lips. "I love you to the point that it drives me mad. I want to be with you, to marry you to make love to you! I want to spend the rest of my life at your side and-"

He choked on a sob as his lips moved against hers over and over again with more and more determination.

"Oh, God, Hermione," he whispered over and over between passionate kisses. "This thing between us is bigger than we are."

Hermione felt his hands along her thighs and she welcomed his touches, leaning against him and then when he shifted, wrapping her legs around his waist so that she could pull closer against him. Draco struggled to hold her up with one hand as he reached for his trousers with trembling fingers. She grew moist instantly knowing that after all this time..

Oh, God.

She knew after all this time everything she had dreamed of would once again be a reality.

Neville was forgotten; her guilt was gone. She knew only that once again she would be his just as she had been for so long.

"I can't stay away from you, Draco," she rasped, kissing his chin and his jaw, wanting him more and more with each passing second. His touch had awakened all that she had thought was dormant forever.

"Don't," he muttered against her heated mouth. "Don't ever stay away. I wouldn't be able to bear it."

Hermione thought he'd make her wait but there were only a few agonizing seconds before she felt his body against her and the feeling of being joined with him in one, quick thrust.

She groaned, pressing her face against his burning neck. His name was on her lips over and over as he gripped her tightly.

For a moment they were still, neither moving, neither daring to breathe. The only sound was the pounding of hearts. Draco stood still, feeling her quiver around his thick member relishing the moment of being one with her again lest it be the only and last time it would ever happen.

Hermione moved her face and dared to gaze up into the eyes of the man she loved. In that moment she knew her world was right once again. It didn't matter that Lavender had threatened her, that she was lying to her family and that the world was no closer to peace than it had been during the war. No, none of that mattered.

What mattered was that after years of unrest, Hermione had found peace again in the arms of Draco Malfoy and nothing would be the same again. She had been lost in a world that she hadn't understood and with one touch of his hand she had been found again. There was no other explanation and no other truth.

"Please, Draco. Move."

Her whisper of need spurred him on and Draco began to thrust into her slowly and evenly and Hermione felt her body respond in turn as mewling sounds of pleasure escaped her. As he moved she felt the tension building up within her and she whispered his name in her need once again.

"Forgive me," he moaned against her mouth thrusting against her.

"Yes," she replied.

Yes. Yes. She had forgiven him. She had never had any other choice. As he moved faster, Hermione succumbed to him completely; he had taken her over. And his words repeated over and over in her mind.

_This thing between us is bigger than we are. _

She knew it was true. It was a horrible thing. It was a beautiful thing. It was a selfish thing and yet a completing thing. A evil thing while at the same time a saving thing. It was too overwhelming and too strong to deny. But most of all it was _true _because Hermione would never love anyone as true as she did Draco.

He tensed in orgasm and she felt him press her against the cold wall in his release and she moaned as she crashed over the edge of her own pleasure holding onto him for dear life. She held him closely, not willing to let him go just yet, to allow the moment to end because it was too real and perfect. She was home again; she had found her peace.


	66. Chapter 66

_As always, I'm deeply touched by all the reviews, alerts and favorites. Thank you! Once I started the update it came quite easily so here's another segment. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX<p>

* * *

><p>Lavender couldn't sleep. She lay in the large, empty bed her golden hair splayed out on satin pillows but hard as she tried, sleep remained elusive.<p>

She listened to the distant sound of Muggle traffic beyond the two double doors that led to the second floor balcony. There was the sound of wheels against pavement and the urgent honking of horns. Sometimes there was a lull and she could hear the rush of the night wind. It ruffled the long, white curtains that adorned the windows.

Sighing, she rolled onto her side, away from the windows and took another deep breath. Her mind wandered back to the tense, angry conversation she had shared with Hermione earlier that night.

_Why am I angry with her?_

Lavender had long ago stopped trying to understand her own motivations. After all, her desires had yielded nothing but heartbreak and loneliness even though those two things had been the least of her desires. She had fallen in love with a man who possessed no heart and had given birth to a daughter with him that would never know real family love. Perhaps she simply possessed destructive motivations.

But why be angry with Hermione?

At even the thought, Lavender's heart tightened and her stomach soured.

_What does she know of pain? Has she been dragged through the mud and made to whore herself on the streets of Paddington to make ends meet? No!_

Lavender closed her eyes, wincing at the onslaught of bad, twisted memories of her past.

_I barely survived while she married a Weasley! She became Draco Malfoy's mistress while I was rejected by him! _

Startled by her train of thought, Lavender gasped. She was taken back to that wet early summer night when she had first laid eyes on Blaise. It was on that same night that Draco had so coldly rejected her.

_I wasn't good enough for him but Hermione was?_

Her heart was pounding and a long seated resentment and envy fueled her anger. For a long time there was only silence but then Lavender heard a thump from below and sat up, golden hair cascading down her back.

Most nights Blaise did not even come home anymore but it seemed that this night was different. For a few moments there was silence and then she could hear his heavy tread on the stairs in the hallway, coming closer and closer still. She turned her head a second later to see his dark form framed in the doorway. In the dimness of the room he looked like a blackened shadow.

"Blaise."

Lavender's voice was pleading. She knew she needed him. It wasn't just a physical need though that was part of it. No, it was all encompassing; it was a need born of love. A love she had nurtured for years and one that grew more desperate with each rebuff.

He walked across the room wordlessly, sitting down on his side of the bed. She could see his eyes glittering. Perhaps this would be the night he would reach out to hold her. She would feel his arms around her once more and he would stay through the night. Lavender couldn't remember the last time Blaise had shown her an ounce of warmth or a fraction of affection. All she had were faded memories now.

She had been changed by the war but he, too, had changed. And changed completely. In place of the man she was in love with there was only a heart filled with emptiness; there was only horrible beauty.

"Why are you still awake?"

His voice was roughed with disuse, soft and melodic just as it was in her fantasies.

"I always hope you'll come home. It's hard to rest without you."

It seemed the most possessive of comments but she knew it was undoubtedly true.

Her fingers ran along the satin duvet, reaching for his, finding them and resting hers there. Much to her joy he did not pull away, instead gazing at her, searching her eyes with his own.

"I saw you tonight, talking to Hermione Longbottom."

Lavender hid her disappointment as her spirits dimmed. So it wouldn't be about wanting to spend time together; it was never about that anymore.

"I…yes, I saw her tonight."

"She is a fool."

There was a silence as Lavender longingly stared down at their joined fingers, her white against the dark color of his skin. She knew better than to reply. In moments like this Lavender knew he could only hear himself.

"Longbottom is a fool just like his wife," he muttered.

His fingers began moving along her knuckles. "Instead of aiding me in eradication the fool is more interested in keeping the peace! How can we have peace if the very thing that we fought against for so long still exists? Until it is wiped out we won't know peace!"

His voice had grown more feverish in the darkness, holding darkened notes of melancholy and anguish. It was a beautiful voice but Lavender knew that it sang only a song of discord. As the moments passed, Blaise grew more agitated but he never moved from the bed or removed his hand from his wife's.

"He lets that woman of his rule his heart and I fear she has nothing but bad intentions."

It was odd, Lavender realized, how little Blaise knew about Hermione. She was the kind of woman one wanted to hate simply because she was so _good_. But when Blaise was in one of his moods there was no reasoning with him and so she remained silent hoping to fall into his good graces.

"Did she tell you anything?"

His voice had grown honeyed and warm. Lavender looked up into his face inches from hers.

"What do you mean?"

"Anything that could allude to what is happening within the Ministry offices?"

"Wouldn't you know?" she questioned. "Don't you work there?"

Blaise's grip on her hand tightened.

"They tell me nothing!" he exclaimed with irritation. "They think I should focus my attentions elsewhere."

Blaise pulled his hand away from Lavender's taking with him the warmth and contact that she missed and craved like the air she breathed.

"Blaise, please-"

She found herself being silenced by the all-encompassing touch of his hand against her cheek. She shivered at the contact, willing it to never end.

"You know her better than I do," he whispered. "You know if she'd be up to something."

"Up to something?"

Lavender's echo felt stupid to her own ears. Blaise was too preoccupied to notice that his wife was enraptured by his attentions.

"You know Neville Longbottom isn't truly the one that runs the Ministry. It's his wife and I question her loyalties to the Alliance. After all, her fallen lover was a Death Eater."

His words dripped with disdain and Lavender blinked, searching his fevered face.

_So are you, my love. So are you._

It was the height of insanity but she didn't dare speak her mind, afraid that he would take his touch from her and leave her lonely and lost once again. Without him, she was nothing. Lavender ran her fingers along his cheek tenderly before speaking.

"He-he was your friend once."

Her reminder was murmured gently but it fell upon deaf ears.

"One who does not fight for the same cause as I was no friend of mine."

_Oh, God. What has made him this way?_

Lavender shuddered, wanting to curl against Blaise's warmth and forget the rest of the world. She was so sure, so positive that if he would just love her again that all would be right. But-

"Friend or no friend, Draco is dead."

She saw a smirk playing on Blaise's shapely mouth.

"They tortured him months ago. He knows where the remaining Death Eaters are."

Lavender shook her head wishing he would stop talking about his work and focus on her the way he did in her long-lost memories.

"Blaise, did you not hear me? He is _dead._"

It was madness, this obsession he had with eradicating the world of the remaining Death Eaters. It was complete and utter _madness_ and it was destroying him. Lavender stood helplessly because she couldn't do anything and it was eating away at him, twisting his mind, his emotions, his actions – everything. War destroyed people; it crippled and it created fears. And in others it fostered insanity.

"Blaise."

He ignored her, hands limp in hers, eyes glazed over. She was both troubled and angered by his distance.

"Blaise!"

This time her voice was shriller, more demanding. His eyes flickered as he gazed from the window with its billowing curtains to the troubled face of his wife.

"What?" he snapped.

"Why don't you listen to me!" she cried out. "Why don't you open your eyes and see what's really happening and not what you bloody want to see?"

He remained infuriatingly calm.

"I've long ago stopped understanding you, Lavender."

Even the way he spoke her name lacked something and she wanted to weep at what was lost.

"What about me? What about our family and everything we dreamed about?"

Her hand tightened on his.

"We can have that now," she whispered emphatically. "If you would just let go of the past and move forward, Blaise. I want that and so does Daisy. We _need _you!"

And how much! She could only pray now that somehow, something would get through to him. Blaise watched her curiously.

"You have everything you've ever wanted."

Tears shimmered in her eyes.

"No, not this way," she moaned. "Not this way. I want our family and I need your love. I need you to be…to be-"

It was hard to put into words the loss she felt and all the months of loneliness. How could she tell another person exactly how much she missed them even though they were _right there?_

There was a crippling, electric silence. Then Blaise grabbed her by the shoulders and covered her warm lips with his demanding mouth, pressing into her and taking from her what he wanted all the while Lavender cried inside at the feeling of being emptied out and left to wither.

They were breathless when he pulled apart.

"You search for something you never lost," he hissed. She saw resentment and madness in his eyes. "And you say I've changed?"

His laugh was a sibilant hiss.

"Look at yourself, Lavender. You wanted me for so long and now that you know who I am you aim to search for a man that never existed!"

"You've changed!" Lavender cried out tearfully, feeling heated from his kiss. "You're not-"

"I am who I am. Make your peace with that."

He was gone and she was left alone in a room where the only sound was the late night wind against the windows. And she could not find peace within her.

* * *

><p>The rest of the world could still have been at war, the madness all consuming and destructive, but Hermione had finally found her peace. In the circle of Draco's arms everything she had lost was found again and all the time that had passed no longer mattered.<p>

_I am whole._

It was not just a fancy; it was a feeling. It was true and more real than anything Hermione had known in all her thirty years. As she watched his face she knew she'd be damned before she let him go again, no matter what the consequences.

Draco watched her somberly but as it had been in the past, Hermione could not determine what he was thinking. The only thing she was certain of was that he loved her as she loved him. The love between them had never gone away and that certainty was both saving and destructive. Hermione knew without Draco, half her heart would always be missing and the half-life she lived would never feel complete. And yet she knew to be with him, to make such a choice, would mean to destroy everything she had built.

It meant starting all over again and how could she do that? How could she even think of doing that to-?

"I'm sorry."

He words sad.

Draco ran his long, elegant fingers through the messy curls around her shoulders, bringing her face close to his for another, lingering kiss. Melting into him seemed the most natural thing in the world and for a few moments all her worries and guilt shimmered into the back of her mind.

When he pulled away, Hermione allowed herself to get lost in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about everything that's happened, Draco. I'm sorry about…tonight, about…not being able to-"

She was shamed now, color flooding her face and neck. Was she truly so weak? Was she that simple minded that another man had so easily made her stray? Hermione knew her feelings to be much more complicated that that but in the moment, she felt dirty.

"It takes two, Granger."

Her heart skipped at the way he said her name – just as he had so long ago. Pressing his forehead against hers, Draco sighed.

"You apologize to me? A man who clearly possesses no nobility and good intentions?" he asked wryly, pressing his lips against her flesh for a moment. "I can't help loving you, Hermione. It's bigger than I am."

Hermione was silent though she knew in her heart of hearts she agreed.

"I know," was her reply.

"It's shameful. I hate the man you call a husband. He's a good man and a kind person and I hate him! I hate him and I made you break you vows to him and I don't bloody care!" he managed to rasp. "I don't care because it means I can be with you like this again," he finished, reaching down to cup her body against his with a groan.

Hermione felt a flooding heat wash over her as her eyes fluttered shut.

"I know," she moaned again. "I know it's wrong Draco but I want you."

Her eyes opened.

"Time never stopped but my heart did," she admitted. "It stopped that day at the train station in Wales and it never started again until I saw you in the cellar and that's the irrevocable truth."

They gazed at one another, so much unspoken and yet so much understood. Draco leaned down to wipe away a single tear that had made it's way along her crimson cheek. She leaned to entwine her fingers in his and brought them to her lips tenderly.

Draco closed his eyes, sighing. There was no peace like the one he had found in Hermione's arms. There was no truth like the one created by their love. There would never be anything as timeless and indestructible. She was good and beautiful and most of all, she was his. Still his after so many years and lost hopes. She was still the light in his darkened life and he would never, ever again leave her.

Not even now when she wasn't allowed to be his.

"Hermione, tonight changed everything."

"Yes."

"But nothing all at the same time."

"Yes."

Her voice had broken and Draco found himself not wanting to hear the answer to his next question.

"What happens now?"

The silence served only to increase his anguish and he sought solace with another kiss. He expected sadness when they pulled apart but saw only determination in the depths of her endless, amber eyes.

"Now I protect you the way you protected me."

Her voice was certain and her eyes shone with certainty.

"What?"

"I'll keep you safe because I love you and I can't bear to lose you again. Here, in this house for now. But Neville and I have funded new clinics all over the city and…there's a place, in Ireland where-"

His blustery response interrupted Hermione's hurried planning.

"No! I can't let you do that," he said his face turning pink. "To risk your life like that and destroy the family that you've created? And Leo, he doesn't know anyone but Longbottom. I can't-"

She stopped him.

"I love Neville. I will always love him for what he did for me and for giving me a family and giving Leo a father when his real one wasn't there. But I love you too and I won't let you go again. It's that simple."

"Hermione-"

"Don't 'Hermione' me."

His jaw stiffened.

"You don't know Zabini. He's a madman."

He watched as Hermione shook her head with vehemence.

"You're wrong; things have changed. I _do _know Zabini. I'm the Minister's wife, remember?"

This was said wryly but it still caused Draco's breathing to grow shallow and his belly to twist with jealousy.

"The way he tortured those people after…after the final battle…I don't think I can explain, Hermione."

She had grown serious.

"I know he's not right, Draco. I know it but he's just a wizard."

"He's dangerous."

"And I can handle myself."

"It's not worth the risk!"

She was silent for a moment, thoughtful.

"Why was I worth the risk to you? Back when I was at the alienage?"

Draco thought back to that time, his mind muddled and his heart heavy. She had been his light; an infallible beacon in a dismal, frightening existence. She had captured him long before he had loved her. For a moment, Draco couldn't quite look at Hermione.

"That's…it wasn't the same. You couldn't even…"

He stopped and then sat up, pulling her with him and Hermione gazed at him steadily.

"Pansy is alive."

Draco paled all other thoughts flying from his mind in that moment.

"What?"

"She came to London; she was looking for help."

His face crumbled, the shame and regret painted it its lines.

"Oh, God…I wondered what had happened to her! She was so strong! She stood with me when everyone else abandoned us. She loved me…"

He hung his head.

"Merlin's beard…I can't believe she's alive," he whispered in shock.

Hermione reached to still his trembling hand.

"She's alive and well. And she's still strong, Draco. She's helping those who survived the final battle. Those ones that Blaise knows are still alive and tortured you over."

Draco refused to look up, feeling overwhelmed at the news that Pansy was alive. He stared down at the dusty floor as Hermione gently prodded him to move across the room to the old couch that took up the back corner. Then he felt her small body pressing against his as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Who? Who is she helping? Who…survived?"

He felt her frown.

"I don't honestly know. Pansy wasn't…forthcoming with information. She begged Neville's help and he agreed. I've been trying to help her for weeks. Even before I knew you were still alive."

Draco finally looked up and it took almost everything in him not to break down.

"You're too _good,_ Hermione," he said cupping her face in his hands. "Too _bloody _good. Both of you!"

And yet he resented Neville Longbottom even more than he had a moment before. Why did he have to be so sodding good? Why wasn't he a fucking prat so to give good reason for his fiery hatred?

Hermione seemed unaware of Draco's inner turmoil as she leaned up to press her lips against his cheek.

"I wanted to help her the way she helped me. The way you both did. It's only right."

"No, Hermione. It's not right that I've put you in this position!" he exclaimed. "And I won't let you risk your life for me. You know what might happen if Blaise gets wind of this? Fucking Death Eaters! He'll destroy you and your husband!"

Hermione was startled by Draco's growing vehemence and pulled away as he jumped to his feet.

"You'll tell your husband to back off. And I'm done listening to you."

His gray eyes were glittering slits as Hermione stood to face him. She was defiant and beautiful in her refusal to back down.

"You'll do what I want you to," she said with a smug expression on her face. "I know it because your heart is my heart."

Draco shook his head.

"I won't let my desire for you destroy what you've built. That wasn't what was supposed to happen."

He remained stubborn even though he knew she would see his cracks.

"And you made me love you. That wasn't supposed to happen," she reminded gently.

Gods, her voice was like music to his ears and Draco faltered. So weak, he knew. He was so weak in the face of everything she was.

"Hermione…"

"I love you and I want you for as long as I can have you."

Draco stared.

"What about after? What about when I'm free in Ireland or whatever _bleeding marvelous _part of the world you think I'll be safe in?" he spat panicked at the thought that one day soon he'd be separated from her once again. He couldn't bear it and yet she stood there watching him calmly, assurance glimmering in the depths of her eyes.

"We can't worry about that now, Draco."

"You're bloody mad."

"It _is_ madness but I know now that I can't be without you. I tried that. And I also tried staying away and I can't. You said it; we can't control this…thing between us. You know why? Because this thing is real and true _love_ and I _know_ you know that!"

Draco watched as Hermione stepped closer to him and her wildly beautiful eyes challenged him to say differently. He couldn't. And with that, he flung out his hands helplessly.

"So what then?" he spat incredulously. "You protect me in this sodding house until you can transfer me somewhere else? You hide your dirty little secret while you go on with the rest of your fucking life with Neville and MY son?"

His eyes watered from withheld emotion.

"I can't do that!"

She shook her head.

"I told you already; I love you. I won't deny that. I can't lie and tell you that I don't love Neville because I do. But my heart is with you."

Draco couldn't speak; it was as if the words were stuck inside him without a way to escape and so Hermione continued.

"I never intended to hurt anyone but I know no matter what happens someone…"

Her face fell and as she struggled to continue Draco found himself wishing he could take her guilt. After all, he was just as guilty.

"I broke my vows to him," she whispered. "To a man who has been nothing but wonderful to me and Leo and whose only sin is that he's not _you._"

Draco felt an inexplicable sadness blanket him.

"Hermione, that's why…that's why I can't do this thing. I can't let you-"

She reached to link her hand in his.

"Be it horrible and selfish, I love you. I know it might be wrong and I know that it's going to cause pain but if you walk away I'll simply die."

He was rooted in place, unable to move from her embrace.

"Tell me you understand; tell me you feel the same."

Hermione searched Draco's face and found all she needed there, in the depths of his quicksilver eyes. She reached up to caress his cheek tenderly.

"I can't worry about what's going to happen and I won't think on the past."

Draco closed his eyes at the touch of her fingers and took a shaking breath.

"Draco, we could run. You and me and Leo. Leave here. I could…I could create a diversion and we'd be gone before anyone knew!"

He saw both the despair and hope that flickered across Hermione's suddenly pale face but still she clung tenaciously to him. It was her stubbornness that was her undoing. Now. And before, at the alienage too.

He felt himself smirking.

"That's just madness, you know that," he murmured with a sad shake of his head. "Even if I wanted to-"

Hermione grew impassioned.

"You do! You do want to; I can see it on your face. We can run, Draco!"

"I have nothing to offer you, Hermione! Nothing to offer Leo except this damned Mark on my forearm that brands me as an abomination," he whispered raggedly, his eyes watering. "What kind of life would you have with me? I'm a wanted man; I always have been. Nothing has changed."

Her lips quivered.

"But I love you."

"And I adore you more than my life. It's always been true and that's why I won't let you do this crazy thing."

He reached to touch her hand with his for a moment and the silence stretched between them until he cleared his raw throat.

"I want you for as long as I can have you," he whispered, echoing her earlier words.

"Living with you isn't…that's not a choice I'm willing to make," she replied with passion.

"I know."

He wrapped his arms around hers and pulled her against himself, stirring each one of his senses. Leaning down he willed their problem to the back of his mind, deciding that for now, she was here. And he had her.

"I'm here now."

She leaned up, her eyes fluttering closed and her heart beating quickly with both desire and despair.

"Don't let go, Draco," she whispered. "And don't give up hope. I'm going to do everything I can to make this right. I promise. It won't be easy and it will involve risks but it's worth it, isn't it?"

It was, he knew. He answered her with a kiss.

* * *

><p><em>Ireland<em>

The morning sun rose along the navy horizon and early threads of light pierced the crowded room. The shadowed forms that sat and lay on the dirty ground moved slowly, some moaning others gasping for air.

In the midst of it all stood Neville, leaning over one of the forms, a phial full of blue liquid clasped in his shaking hands. The sunrise seemed to dispel some of the heavy darkness he was feeling but nothing eased the burden he felt.

_Death Eaters._

It wasn't like he hadn't faced them before, was it? After all, there had been the battle in the Department of Mysteries, hadn't there? And what about the bloody fact that he, Neville Longbottom, had defeated Lord Voldemort? Now if _Voldemort_ hadn't been a Death Eater, he didn't know who _was._

_Why do I feel so on edge?_

The men and women gathered in that small room were the remnants; they were the remainder of the human souls that Blaise Zabini had targeted for destruction. They were Marked – and not only by the glaring dark smudges on their forearms. Neville wasn't sure how many of them still remained. And he wasn't sure exactly why he had agreed to this supposed madness. Was it Hermione? Or had it been the knowledge that without acceptance there would never be peace? The end of the wizarding war should have brought with it peace and yet still some stoked the fires of anger and stirred the beginnings of deeply-seated prejudices.

As he crouched down before a man whose face was shadowed by a thick, tattered hood, Neville decided that everyone deserved a chance at survival – even those who had so blatantly tried to destroy the existence of the _very_ ones that were helping them now. It was irony.

"Hold still," he said in a low whisper and the man hissed and pulled away once more, cradling an arm which was garishly painted with deep, open wounds.

"It bloody hurts!"

"I can't make it stop hurting," said a very calm Neville. "It's cursed; I don't know what sort of curse but I do know that sometimes those kinds of cuts won't heal. The best I can do is help you bandage it. And the salve will help."

His assurance was gentle and then hooded man relented once more, offering his battered arm and only moaning as Neville began his silent work. As he worked, Neville's mind wandered. It wandered to quieter days and more pleasant mornings. Mornings that he had spent in his laboratory at the Clinic in Cardiff. He recalled yellow sunrises and hours of research. He had recollections of warm tea and his Weird Sisters records.

_And there I was, wishing for more, wishing I could better help the WERA!_

And he had, Neville realized. By ending the war and ushering in the wizarding world's new era. With that had come too many changes. Hermione had been the best change and the one thing he truly embraced. She and Leo meant the world to him and as he finished bandaging the man's arm, he realized that it was this and not much more that was his driving force. In spite of the fact that Hermione could not completely open up to him and so he was being kept in the dark about the time she had spent in the alienage.

_Time, she just needs time!_

The logical part of his brain knew that the more time passed the less valid this excuse would become.

_Certainly she was traumatized. Perhaps she can't talk about it._

He had mulled that over for ages and wondered if perhaps there was no cure, no amount of love that could rebuild trust after someone had been so damaged.

_But if I give her enough reason to trust me...perhaps just a few more words of love and of support…_

It seemed futile, but Neville had determined long ago that he would not give up on Hermione or their relationship. He loved her; that much was for certain. Everything else he would have to hope for. And there was never any gain or satisfaction without risk.

He refocused on the task at hand and swallowed. The word 'risk' seemed quite right in describing his current situation anyway.

_Here I am, Neville Longbottom, Minister for Magic. Helping the Death Eaters while most of the populace around me is crying for their blood._

The hooded man's other arm lay face up on the dusty ground, the Mark black and garish against his bruised and lacerated flesh. It was evident that the man had attempted to remove it. Neville had seen far too many such attempts. As he pressed the damp cloth against the red scratches on the Marked flesh, he sighed.

"You know, trying to remove it won't take away the stain of what you are."

The man jerked his arm away with a vicious yank.

"Why don't you piss off, you sanctimonious-"

"Theo!"

The thin yet commanding voice rang through the room and both men turned to see Pansy Parkinson framed in the doorway. She held two rucksacks full of supplies that Neville had managed to gather in the dead of night, when all other eyes were sleeping. She walked forward slowly, her violet eyes trained on the man lying on the ground.

"That's your Minister you're speaking to."

Neville sensed a hesitation in her soft words and he wondered if she too was finding it difficult not to be defiant. She knelt down on Neville's other side and pulled back Theo's hood. It was then that Neville recognized him.

The bloke had been quiet in school; he hadn't been one of those Slytherins who had taken great pleasure in mocking him. His face was a purplish-white color, weary from hunger and abuse. But his eyes still snapped defiantly.

"I haven't forgotten," he choked out and then his body went limp against the ground.

Neville remained silent, watching their exchange.

"Then show some respect."

Pansy Parkinson was a woman of few words, Neville had realized.

She had met him in the middle of the night and together they had set off to find a place to call a safe harbor until the building of the first shelter and clinic was completed. They had discovered a small, brick building that had once served as storage space at the edge of the property and there she had had helped him set up camp. All the previous night she had worked feverishly and had not uttered one word so that Neville did not know if she was hungry, cold or weary. Perhaps the war had made all those things so commonplace she no longer felt them? Even when they had taken breaks and he had offered her food she had only thanked him and lapsed back into endless silence broken only by an occasional, weary coughing.

She was unfailingly determined and fiercely loyal. Neville had found himself wondering what she had been doing for the old Ministry all those years during the war. But he never asked.

The moment of tense silence between Pansy and Theo passed and then she stood, leaving behind the sacks of supplies she had carried into the crowded room. Neville watched her move gracefully between the fallen bodies as if she had done it many times before. She disappeared down the back hallway leaving him alone once more.

He cleaned up quickly and then clumsily made his way towards the same exit, careful not to fall or trip over the Death Eaters too weak to move. He found Pansy standing in the doorway that faced the wooded property that surrounded the building. In the distance the building site could be seen and the clinic was going up at a rapid pace thanks to the spells that the builders were weaving.

He stood next to her and watched as the morning breeze picked up and ruffled rogue strands of her long, dark hair. Even after the weeks of care Hermione had given her, Pansy looked like a mere skeleton covered with a fleshy casing. The only thing that signaled life was the glimmering of her eyes. They seemed to overflow with abundance of life.

"He was afraid."

Neville jumped at Pansy's sudden words.

"Peg pardon?"

"Theo," she continued. "He was afraid. We all are."

Neville felt and odd sense of resentment settle upon him.

"Why? Because for the first time in your life you have no control? No Muggle-borns to push around? Is that it?"

There was no change in Pansy's expression and Neville began to grow irritated. She stared out at the building site and then her eyes flickered over him briefly.

"Fear is always there. Control is a distraction. When you no longer have it, you feel the fear that you were trying to pretend wasn't there."

Neville stood away from her rigidly, favoring his good leg.

"That's rubbish."

He heard her snort softly.

"You don't think we felt fear?"

"It was those you discriminated against that had the right to feel fear."

There was a tense silence before Pansy spoke again, this time about Voldemort.

"He controlled us with fear; it was all some of us knew. The fear was always there. We each handled it differently but we all felt it. Some reacted with violence. Others grasped onto a cause that didn't exist. And some chose cruelty. The truth is that if you don't show your fear they can't control you. We are only human."

Neville marveled at such an admission because in spite of her displeasure with conversation, he felt that she was a strong woman.

"That's true. And those thousands you hurt were only human too," he pointed out tersely. Once again, Pansy chose silence for a moment or two before replying.

"You act as if there is no prejudice on your side, Minister. Take a look at the Commandant. Perhaps it is much closer than you realize."

Neville found himself growing defensive.

"You think it is my choice to keep Zabini in his post? He has a following that I cannot understand and it would be madness to remove him from his position! You know better than I what he has done for the WERA and the Muggle-borns. He's a war hero."

Pansy offered a sad smile.

"Indeed. And I know more about what he has done to his own people than you ever will. How quickly he turned on those who bear the same Mark he does. How twisted his own prejudices have made him. Ambition is as destructive as violence and often times one doesn't realize it until it is much too late."

Her words were small now and Neville realized how weary she truly looked. He also realized that she bore a heavy burden that he could not understand and in some ways he _wanted_ to.

It was a surreal moment for Pansy, standing in the company of the Minister that early spring morning. Freedom was so close she could nearly taste it and she wanted nothing more than to put down the burden she had been carrying for much too long.

First, the burden of fear, of wanting to be strong in the face of her own fears and weaknesses. The belief that her position within the old Ministry would give her all the assurance she would ever need. Then there had been the burden of loving a man who had never loved her and rejecting all those who would want her. Even someone as vile as Marcus Flint had been.

Pansy had never been a fool; each time her wand had taken the life of an innocent soul her burden had grown more daunting. She was suddenly caught up in faded, broken memories.

Her father telling her she would start working that Ministry and that it would behoove her to work as hard as she could because his connections and not her talent had gotten her the job. Her tears of frustration as she had set aside the rest of her life to prove her father wrong and to show the world that she could do _something_. The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange heaping praise upon her for doing her job right. The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she tortured children, women and men, all the while hiding her fear behind the cracking shell of glee and laughter. And flashes of her moments alone, behind closed doors, knowing that she was _good_ at what she did and she was squandering it because she feared-

_That_ particular burden had been almost too much to bear and yet somehow…she was still alive. Still strong and willing to face another day.

Freedom…Pansy needed it like she needed each breath she took. She needed to find a place to lay down the weight she felt. The odd thing was that the man at her side would be the one to help her – both he and his wife.

_Funny how not even in my imaginings did I believe I would ever be at the mercy of Hermione Granger. How nothing is the way I thought it would be._

She chanced a glimpse to the man on her left and thought back to her school days, for they were the last days she clearly remembered him. He had been a fat, dumpy boy, one of those that were perfectly suited to be the butt of all the school pranks. Of course she had been popular and like most girls her age had not been able to help herself when it came to bullying. Pansy had always had a penchant for bullying. He had been ungainly and quiet, easily frightened and slow to retaliate.

She had felt secretly sorry for him.

And now?

Now he was no longer a boy and boasted more integrity and bravery than all those who had poked fun at him. Life and irony went hand in hand.

He stood stiffly as if pained by some old injury and was not much taller than she. He was neither fat nor thin, a bit round actually, with a shock of brown hair that fell into kind and understanding eyes even at the most dire of moments. Pansy wasn't sure how she knew that but she just did. He carried himself slowly, if not a bit clumsily and was dressed in clothes she fancied her grandfather would have worn had he still been alive. He spoke softly and had a shy smile.

Neville Longbottom was a _good _man and Pansy had ever known any good men. She loathed and admired him all at the same time.

"You know we have freedom of choice," he was saying. "Fear should never be used as an excuse."

She thought his voice carried too much knowledge as if he had experienced what he was saying and learned from it. She found herself pondering his words.

"You say that to me but look at yourself. Is it your fear that drives you to keep Blaise in his position? He threatens the very peace your Ministry is striving to uphold. I may be an abomination in the eyes of the new world but I know things."

For the second time that morning, Neville and Pansy regarded one another both holding a measure of distrust for the other.

"Do you fear Zabini?"

Neville remained silent and she continued.

"A wise man would, Minister."

"And why should I listen to you?"

"I may have fallen on many occasions, but I know how to lead people."

She turned her head slightly towards the building behind them from which a hushed mumbling could be heard.

"It is no coincidence that they turned to me."

Neville responded a few moments later.

"You say you've done horrible things. Do you think this will make up for them?"

Pansy lowered her heard and her words were contrite.

"I no longer think or believe in much, Minister. Only that this is the right thing and I've spent too much of my life doing everything but what was right."

The birds twittered in the trees beyond them and then the breeze picked up for a moment. The sun was warm upon their backs and just for a second their animosity seemed to have melted away. The stirring from within the building grew louder.

"I have my duties," she said then. "To those who are waiting for me to help them. So do you."

She paused before turning around.

"Think about what I said. It's not just because Zabini so easily turned and tortured those who fought on my side during the war, Minister. That has something to do with it but it's also because he will turn on you as well. Give him time and reason."

Pansy watched his back for a moment wondering what he was thinking and why she even cared. But in the end she knew that if they had any chance of survival it lay in the hands of the Minister for Magic, no matter who he was.

"You will never make a choice that will please everyone. But some choices are better for your people in the long run while others…"

She finally fell silent, uncertain of what was too much. Finally, Pansy decided she had said enough and opened the door to the building just in time to see him turn, a pleading expression in his face. But she did not wait to hear his question and slipped into the building, letting the metal door fall shut behind her.


	67. Chapter 67

_I am, as always, flattered by the reviews, alerts and lovely comments I've received along the way of telling this monster story! I thank you all! And I'm back from vacation renewed and relaxed (For the moment) with another installment that sort of moves the story forward a bit. There's not too much more to go, I don't think. Of course that depends on how much development I continue to add. We shall see. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione sat on the hard, expensively upholstered chair as she stared at the Commandant of the Ministry battle forces. Blaise Zabini regarded her with a lazy curiosity.<p>

"It has been a while, Miss Granger."

His perfectly arched eyebrow rose.

"Forgive me," he corrected himself. "I often get stuck in the past, you see. I mean…Lady Longbottom, of course."

He sat back in the large chair that sat behind the even larger desk between them and offered a warm smile.

"Would you like a cuppa?"

He nodded languidly towards a teapot that sat on the credenza near the massive door that led out of his Ministry offices.

"No, thank you," Hermione replied.

She was unable to get comfortable and wasn't sure if it was the chair, the way he was trying to make casual the austere environment or the nervousness he tried to cover with his smile. All of it unsettled her.

"You've rather piqued my curiosity requesting a private meeting with me, Lady Longbottom."

The question was voiced casually even though the hungry look never faded from Blaise's onyx-colored eyes. Hermione couldn't recall a time when she had been this close to Blaise Zabini. Certainly, Ministry functions required both their attendance but this matter was different and so she couldn't figure out why he was playing up the niceties.

"I have concerns," Hermione replied, hoping to get right to the point.

She had decided the moment she left Draco's side that she would do anything in her power to ensure his safety. Though she knew what she had to do, fear and guilt prevented her from going to Neville first, to tell him the truth. She had requested the meeting with Blaise behind her husband's back hoping to settle matters peacefully so that she could then deal with telling him the truth.

Blaise let out a sigh and then pressed the tips of his fingers together, watching Hermione over the tops.

"About?"

"The war is over, Commander. Don't we all seek peace?"

A frown marred Blaise's dark skin.

"It is becoming rather insufferable, is it not? You would be the third person this month who is asking me to back away from my mission. A mission, need I remind you, that the general wizarding populace is supportive of. You wish me to call back my Death Eater hunters?"

The question was silky but it held dangerous undertones. Hermione swallowed, sitting up straighter and not allowing him to see her anxiety. She countered his question with one of her own.

"If I'm not the only one, would you not consider rethinking your latest decisions?"

Blaise offered another smile. She thought it was meant to be one of appeasement but all she felt was condescension.

"I wonder…why is your husband not here in your place? Do you come to me with his concerns or is this a more…personal matter?"

He regarded her curiously.

"Does the Minister know you are here, questioning my decisions as if you believe you are better at military tactics than I? We all know you're a brilliant witch, Lady Longbottom. But no one is brilliant at _everything."_

Hermione withheld a curt reply, pressing her lips together for a moment before speaking tersely.

"My husband has much on his plate and I come in his place."

She knew that the words were partly a lie but she had gotten used to lies since the moment she had left the alienage. For a moment he stared at her and she felt a strange feeling washing over her.

_Oh, no…_

It was as if her mind was shimmering and melting, becoming malleable so that anyone who wanted to know what she was thinking-

_Bloody hell, he's a Legilimens!_

Hermione cleared her throat, her eyes flying open as she began to feverishly fight against Blaise's unwelcome intrusion. She had practiced with Harry when they had been in school but feared that her Occlumency skills needed a bit of work.

_Sodding good time to get practice!_

The office was filled with an electric silence as the two adversaries went head to head in a silent battle. Hermione fought to hide her true thoughts and intentions, thinking back instead to the horrific memories of being in the alienage and especially with Marcus Flint.

The gray cement walls…

The sound of imprisoned Muggle-borns begging her to save them…

The moment she had gazed into the eyes of a woman that had reminded Hermione of herself and her sad, sad eyes…

Justin's laugh…

She envisioned the orange, burning flames of the fire as they licked the navy sky, their heat causing the icy night horizon to haze over.

For a moment she was frozen by the horror all over again.

* * *

><p>Some people were easier to read than others.<p>

And Blaise found that sitting there facing Hermione Longbottom proved that pureblood supremacy was a myth. The witch before him had come from two Muggles and yet she possessed skills that rivaled all of the wizards and witches he knew of magical birth.

He could not break her no matter how hard he tried. Her mind was a veritable steel wall. This realization was impossibly irritating but at the same time disturbingly alluring.

Blaise caught hints of her thoughts; they were vague, foggy memories which included the color orange, an icy sky, a man's laugh and fear. He got nothing concrete however. There was no faces, no real thoughts and he could not gauge what she was hiding.

He finally stood angry and frustrated, eyes glittering as if lit with fire from behind them.

"You think you can hide something from me?" he hissed.

Hermione stood up as well.

"I'm not hiding a thing, Commander," she lied boldly.

Blaise sensed a flicker of triumph in her face and in that moment he wished to crush her like the annoying insect she was. At the same time he felt the overwhelming need to possess her, to hold her worthless life in his own hands so that he could do what he wished with her.

Instead he took a breath and offered her a smile that cloaked his growing hatred for both the Minister and his nosy, insufferable little wife.

"I am no fool, Lady Longbottom," he began. "And I know you must have ulterior motives for wanting peace. Once I find out what they are…"

The woman's lip twitched.

"I think it shows very little professionalism to use Legilimency, Commander. It's as if you don't trust me. And after all, I have only good intentions unlike some who work for the Minister. It is unfortunate that he's too wrapped up in his business to know how closely his enemy lurks."

There was nothing in her expression or words to imply that she was threatening him but Blaise felt…defensive. The feeling of being helpless passed quickly, however, and was soon replaced with rage of a passionate variety. It rushed through him, leaving him breathless and his fingers trembling from the desire to rip her apart. The need to destroy her was nearly as passionate as the need to claim her.

"I suppose that is a threat?"

The coolness of his words bellied his suddenly fevered needs.

Blaise watched a smirk play on her lips.

"I wouldn't say that, Commander. Just remember, we are all working for peace here. You ought to mind our overall goal and stop with this fancy to eradicate the new world. There will always be Death Eaters. You need only roll up your sleeve to know that. Have you forgotten already? Or is that why you walk around here covering that all up? Perhaps you should stop accusing me of lying when you're the biggest liar of all."

Blaise saw red at the woman's obvious confidence and the way she carried herself as she walked to the door. She was too bloody confident and he vowed in that moment that he'd destroy whatever was left of her. He realized he was sorry he had ever helped her in the first place.

"We shall see about that, Lady Longbottom. We shall see about that."

Then he watched her go and when he was finally alone, panic set in and he felt the way he had at the start of the wizarding war – a mere man stuck under the thumb of a tyrant dark wizard. Only this time he would not allow himself to be helpless. This time he would do what he had set out to do. He would destroy all those that had destroyed him.

* * *

><p><em>Ireland <em>

Hermione felt a helpless anxiety settle over her as, several hours later, she apparated to Seamus and Ginny's cottage. She took refuge there in the verdant, green valley where the small family had made their home. Even during the war, after Neville had gone off to fight she had found peace there. And she often returned when her nerves were pulled tight or frazzled.

This was no exception and she sat at their large, wooden table in the airy kitchen sipping on a cool drink.

"It's a dilemma to be sure," Seamus commented, swinging one leg over the rung of a chair facing the windows. Ginny stood in the alcove that they called a kitchen working on something for dinner.

Hermione sighed.

"I know he's…suspicious of me," she found herself admitting, unable to gaze into Seamus' friendly eyes for a few moments.

Ginny came around a corner, holding a spoon in one hand and shoving a stray strand of red gold hair that had escaped her plait behind her ear. For a few moments there was only the distant shrieks and laughter from the children outside.

"Why would he be?"

Hermione glanced at her old friend and then sighed, wishing she could share with Ginny all that she had been through since Draco had walked into her life once more. He was the deepest, darkest secret she had ever hidden and her fear paralyzed her even though she knew she would never be able to give him up.

"What?"

"Why would he be suspicious of you?"

For a moment Hermione was silent and then she began to speak in a faltering tone.

"I've convinced Neville to…to help the remaining Death Eaters to escape England."

The silence was a heavy one and Seamus' boot made a loud thud against the wooden floor.

"Sweet Jaysus on a Jobberknoll!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "Are you mental?"

Ginny had nearly dropped her spoon, mouth dropping open.

"Do you know how that'll look, Hermione?"

Hermione had known, deep down, how her friends would react to the news. She didn't blame them. After all, the war had been because of a few polluted, prejudiced minds and the manic, insanity of one of the darkest wizards ever to exist. She didn't blame them for the resentment and hatred because too much pain and suffering had been dealt and nothing could change that.

She was saddened to think that even in the new, post-war world, true peace might never be found.

"I don't care," she said brokenly. "How can we possibly move on from the horrors we endured if we treat them the way they treated us?"

Ginny's brown eyes flickered with pain for a moment, her face a mask of confusion and sadness.

"I don't know how you could forgive some of the things you went through, Hermione. Call me selfish but I don't think I am. Those tyrants took my children from me! They put me through horrors I never want to speak of!"

Her eyes swam with tears of hatred and frustration.

"They killed my family and destroyed all my happiness! James, Albus and Lily have to grow up without their real father and it's because of them! I'm a forgiving woman but sometimes you just can't! You just _can't._"

She fled from the room pushing Seamus hands away at the last minute and left only the two sitting at the table. Hermione sighed, trembling slightly.

"I understand how she feels," she whispered.

"I want to believe you, to be sure. Me mind tells me that…there's much more to this."

As much as she wanted to unload her burden, Hermione pressed her lips closed tightly refusing to speak for a long while. It was Seamus who broke the tense silence.

"If you stand against Blaise, many will oppose you, they will. Why, Dean…God love me best mate…he practically worships the bloody ground that sod walks on!"

And that was the truth, Hermione knew. She had noticed a quiet change in Neville within the last few days and she knew him well enough to sense that it was a Ministry matter. Most of the time she left well enough alone but sometimes there was a spark, a look, a sigh that made her wonder if perhaps he was reconsidering his decision to keep Blaise Zabini on as the Commander of the Alliance.

Then again if he had made the choice to relieve Blaise of his duties would it have caused a riot? Seamus was no fool and although he knew more about the inside workings of the Ministry than the average wizard still Hermione could sense the subtle respect he had for Zabini.

She looked up into his florid, freckled face for a few moments.

"Seamus, I just…I don't know about him."

"Aye, Ginny's always been mistrustful, it's true."

Once more Hermione was reminded of the man who had so intimately tried to infiltrate her thoughts. She saw his face, the hatred in his eyes – the determination and hunger.

"He's not right; I've always thought so."

"Sure."

"So why do people trust him?"

"He's a war hero, so he is. Though I think people just need someone to believe in."

"So why not Neville? He's a bloody war hero too!"

The petulant outburst lay between them and beyond the wide kitchen windows the sun played hide and seek behind thick, gray and white clouds.

"Some people are born into power. Like Zabini. Others have it thrust upon them and they're not that comfortable with it. I'd bet me life that Neville's the latter, Hermione."

Despite Seamus' explanation, neither of them could truly answer her question and it filled Hermione with a deep sadness. She stood and moved to the door that led out to the tiny courtyard which was surrounded by green grass and Ginny's garden. The children played in the distance and she felt Seamus come up behind her.

"How many Death Eaters have there been?"

She didn't speak, afraid to share even with Seamus the truth of her actions.

"I remember the first time I saw you again, Hermione. At the hotel, in that red dress. I remember the way Malfoy talked to you. Are you surprised that people are wondering what your motives are?"

Hermione whirled to face her friend.

"I have no motives!" she lied tearfully. "And you shouldn't speak of things you don't understand!"

He put out his hands with a sigh.

"Aye, it's not just me. But you're right, so you are. You make me mind spin."

Hermione put her face in her near trembling hands wanting to tell Seamus that his mind was not the only one that was spinning. Her whole world seemed to be spinning in an uncontrollable vertigo and she couldn't stop it. She didn't want to lie. She didn't want to keep such a secret but she also knew that she wanted Draco safe and with such opposition and the possibility that not even those she loved would understand why-

"There were only a few dozen, Seamus. I started helping two months ago and…Neville agreed. He wasn't happy but he agreed."

"Where are they?"

"North of here, near to where they broke ground a few days ago."

She stared out at the hazy afternoon horizon and watched the clouds move along the sky lazily.

"I know it makes no sense," she continued.

"They tortured you and left you sick and hungry. Treated you like the dirt under me shoe. Sure, they caused those scars you be sporting! And Malfoy that right bloody git acting like you were his whore! It's all disgusting, it is!"

Seamus had turned pink in his passion.

"Listen to me," she said. "It wasn't like that with Draco!"

Seamus let out a snort.

"So how was it?"

Hermione hated the ridicule she sensed in his voice but she refused to cry facing him with her chin up.

"You wouldn't believe the truth if I told you."

"Try me, Hermione. I _know_ what happened in those alienages. Muggle-borns raped, murdered and tortured! Children taken away from their mothers by a right ole cow like Pansy Parkinson! I _know_, believe me!"

"I wasn't raped," Hermione insisted.

"Then why can't you talk about what happened? Why do you lie to us and to your _husband?"_

Hermione struggled with a flood of emotion.

"I can't talk about what happened, Seamus! I can't dwell on what I did and what they did to me!"

"Aye right, Hermione!"

"It's true!"

"And still you say they didn't force you?"

"I wasn't raped," she repeated with growing insistence.

"So how do you explain Leo?"

The words hit Hermione like curse and she stumbled back, her mouth falling open.

"What are you saying?"

"Or did you give them a good old shag willingly, Hermione?" he asked.

The fact that he was disgusted could not have been clearer and without thinking Hermione lifted up her hand and smacked Seamus across the face with as much force as she could muster.

"You clueless, stupid, can of piss!" she exclaimed in surprise and shock that someone she had valued as a friend could have uttered such disgusting things about Leo.

Seamus stumbled back against the force of Hermione's slap, fumbling for his wand and dropping it in the process. Hermione quickly pulled out her own wand in defense, raising it up just as Seamus stood, holding his own.

"Go ahead and try," she challenged between ragged breaths.

"I swear on me mum's grave, but you've gone mental!"

Hermione, still angry, lifted her wand against Seamus just as Ginny flew out of the cottage, red-gold plait flying behind her.

"Stop it, the both of you!" she demanded in horror. "Have you both gone totally mad?" she cried out, her brown eyes incredulous as she glared from he best friend to her husband.

Neither moved, both still holding their wands aloft. Now there was no sound but the birds chirping, offering a seemingly peaceful song in spite of the thick tension. Finally, Hermione lowered her wand, her arm going limp at her side. But her eyes continued to flash angrily in Seamus' direction.

"Don't you ever dare say anything about my son again, do you hear me?"

"Go and shite, Hermione! I'm bleeding tired of you and yer secrets!"

"Even if I wanted to talk about what's happened to me all those years I wouldn't share it with a stupid, prejudiced bastard like you anyway!"

With that, she turned and fled into the cottage, wishing she could get away, far away, but knowing she couldn't.

* * *

><p>The first clinic was completed in record time and as Neville stood facing the grove of trees and the finished building beyond them on the third afternoon of the building, Pansy Parkinson approached for the first time since their last conversation. She had spent the majority of the time in Ireland preparing to help transfer some of the sick and those who couldn't move on their own to the new building until a safe haven could be found. She had worked with a feverish intensity and he had gotten used to coming to the building site and never hearing a word from her except for whispering while she helped those unable to help themselves.<p>

Neville knew he didn't have much time. If someone were to find out what he was doing and why, he would be faced with a lot of questions he didn't have answers to. As he turned to see Pansy approaching he asked himself again why he was doing this thing. Was he a benevolent and kind leader? Did he fear Hermione's anger and the strain on their marriage? Did he even believe in this thing called peace even though many in the wizarding world wanted nothing more than to see the last remnants of those with the Mark erased from the world?

_If that happens, wouldn't we be just as bad as they? Isn't that what Voldemort had wanted to do?_

The realization unsettled Neville and when Pansy stopped next to him he felt tension roiling within him. Even though he knew Zabini's ideas to be too radical, Neville also believed that there would be many that would stand behind him if anyone was to question his most recent decisions.

What was most unnerving was the small missive he had received earlier that day from Hermione about a meeting she had requested with Zabini.

_What does he want from her and what is she hiding?_

Neville's thoughts served only to increase his anxiety and finally he gave up on thinking, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

"Minister."

Her voice was soft and for a woman who seemed so formidable, she possessed a certain unexplainable grace in both the way she carried herself and the way she wielded her wand.

"Parkinson."

There was a long silence as the breeze picked up rustling the green leaves that decorated the trees around them.

"I want to thank you again for everything you have done for me and for those with me," she continued. "I am not certain we will see each other again after today and so I needed to say it again."

Neville glanced at her for a moment. She was no so pale that day, a bit of color staining her alabaster cheeks.

"You're welcome," he replied stoically and then they stood in silence.

"Have you thought about what I said?" she questioned a moment later.

Neville did not respond right away. The truth was that he had been able to think of nothing _but _and it had been unnerving. Throughout meetings with his staff and meetings about military strategy in the future he had wondered what would happen if he eliminated Zabini's position. Would there be a riot? Would he be removed from the Minister's seat?

"I have."

The words were milder than everything he was feeling inside and Neville was surprised.

"I know it will be a hard decision and my intent wasn't to put you in a position that you had to choose. I will respect you no matter what your choice is as you and your wife showed me kindness even though I did not deserve it."

For a moment his worries about the Ministry faded away as he looked at the woman at his side.

"Can I ask you something?"

Pansy nodded her head slightly and Neville found himself continuing.

"What did you do? Before Voldemort's Ministry fell?"

He was once again surprised with himself and at his realization that he was actually interested in what she had to say. Pansy raised two perfectly arched brows and Neville noticed that they were the only delicate thing about her face.

"I worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

It was the last thing he had expected her to say. Certainly, Neville had known that the Ministry under Death Eater control had been much different than the one he had helped rebuild the second time around. But still he had expected Pansy to have taken more…action.

"Surprised, Minister?"

"It's just that with your wand work I expected…something different, I suppose."

She laughed wryly. It was a beautiful sound.

"Well, Voldemort's Ministry was quite different. I worked for that particular department but in reality I was Bella Lestrange's assistant."

Neville felt a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sound of Pansy's words. 'Bella' would never have been what he would have called her. Evil and sadistic seemed much better words, much more appropriate. There was a long silence as Neville fought against memories of his parents and a loss that had been so deep it had cut a chasm in his heart that nothing had been able to fill.

"I see," he choked out, his jaw clenched as he stared out at nothing. "And what did you do for her?"

Neville wasn't even certain _why _he wanted to know.

"Whatever she asked of me," said Pansy cryptically. "I wanted to be accepted; I would have done nearly anything."

Something about Pansy's tone made Neville turn to look at her and he found himself wondering why there was so much regret that lingered in her eyes. It was the war, of course. It had a way of destroying each person involved in different ways.

"And?"

"And I did."

* * *

><p>A silence had fallen over Ginny's back room. Her voice was a roughened whisper when she spoke.<p>

"Can you blame Seamus?"

Hermione was blinking hard to keep from crying and she said nothing in response, her head down and her hands clenched in her lap. Ginny continued.

"Merlin, Hermione! Why would you have Neville and I keep such a secret! If they only looked closer at Leo they would know he was Draco's!"

Hermione's reply was strained.

"What good would it do to tell Seamus? Or Charlie, Angelina or Dean…or anyone?"

She would not move from her place on the small sofa.

"I don't blame them for how they feel but I can't…I can't hurt Leo that way! I can't tell them that his father was a Death Eater and that I willingly…that I _loved_- that I had these feelings and I don't know what to-"

She was crying and Hermione felt Ginny's arms slip around her shoulders like they had so many times before at the alienage and throughout their lives. She leaned into her friend and began to cry, feeling the aching burden of her deceit and fear falling away just a bit.

"I never wanted you to feel guilty for loving him, Hermione. I only thought I did because I was angry and upset about what had happened the night of the fire. I know you loved him and you shouldn't be ashamed."

For a long while, Hermione could not speak and took comfort from Ginny's gentle words.

"Neville deserves to know what he's missed. Maybe not all the details because I don't know if I'd have the strength for those recollections…but he's so worried for you. He always has been," she continued in a quiet reminder. "And I…I only ever wanted to know what happened after I left."

Hermione sat up, wiping her eyes and feeling incredibly tired, as if she hadn't slept for years. She was lying to everyone she loved and even though most of her didn't want to say a word, she knew Ginny deserved to know everything. In the end she could only tell her a fraction of what she deserved to know.

She spoke in monotone, recalling the moments after the fire, the beating, the fact that she had lost a baby she hadn't known existed. She told Ginny of the pain she and Draco had suffered and then finally of their escape.

Her words were thick with tears and cracked when she felt uncertain but still she carried on.

"I know you hate her, Gin but the truth is without Pansy Parkinson I would never have gotten free. She helped me escape."

Ginny's freckles began to stand out against the pallor that suddenly flooded her features.

"You can't expect me to forgive her what she did to Lily," she replied in a voice that was tight and trembling with rage.

Hermione let out a saddened sigh.

"No, I don't. I told her that nothing she did could ever make up for what-"

Ginny interrupted by crushing her hand painfully across Hermione's.

"You've talked to her?" she hissed in disbelief before a realization washed across her features. "She's one of the ones…the ones you're helping, isn't she?"

Hermione gazed at Ginny with helplessness.

"I couldn't just let her…I couldn't just ignore her pleas after what she did for me! Don't you understand? If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here!"

Ginny stared down at Hermione, eyes flashing hatefully in a face that lacked all color now. She was visibly torn, one part of her wanting to lash out at Hermione's impossible stupidity and the other desperately wanting to understand that everything Hermione had ever done was because she had been given no choice.

"But to offer her help? After what she did to you? And what she did to Lily?"

"I know," Hermione replied miserably, dropping her head in shame. "You can't imagine what I felt when I saw her again. I never thought I would; I never believed that in my new life she would ever cross paths with me again. But how could I turn on her when she saved my life?"

After what seemed like a moment of eternity, Hermione watched Ginny's body fall limp. Her cheeks turned pink against her pale flesh as she began to breathe more easily.

"I'll never understand, Hermione. I love you and because of that I…"

She pressed her lips together until they formed a thin, white line.

"Don't ever ask me to help you," she warned tersely.

"I won't," Hermione whispered.

In the end she knew she was walking alone. She wouldn't allow herself to believe that others would ever think like she did and she would never expect them to. As she stared blindly down at her hands she felt Ginny sitting down next to her once more.

"You need to tell Neville. He deserves to know about Pansy, Draco and Leo…everything that's happened."

Hermione shuddered wondering how different it would have been if Draco had truly been dead like Ginny thought.

"I'm afraid," she whispered truthfully, unable to look up at her friend. She felt Ginny's touch on her arm.

"Don't think for a moment that I haven't forgotten what you sacrificed to keep Lily safe. For that, I am grateful. I promise that I'll never stop protecting your son, Hermione. So you don't have to worry about Zabini's…Hunters or whatever bloody hell he's calling them. He likely knows that Leo is Draco's but if I have anything to do with it, he'll never be able to punish him for it."

The horror that claimed Hermione's soul at the thought that Zabini _might _try to do such a thing left her speechless even in the face of Ginny's promises.

"Don't even dream such a thing; I can't bear the thought!"

Her words were fearful and once more Ginny took her hand in reassurance.

"Hermione, what are you so afraid of?"

Hermione considered the question and realized that nothing short of the truth would be a sufficient answer. She looked up at Ginny.

"You have to swear to me on your parents' graves that what I tell you right now stays between just us."

The gravity of her words was unmistakable and Hermione gripped Ginny's hand her eyes begging an answer in silence.

"Hermione, I told you already that they would understand! Seamus, Dean-"

Hermione shook her head.

"No. I need you to promise me, Gin."

Finally, Ginny relented.

"I promise."

Hermione took a breath.

"Draco's not dead," she revealed tremulously. "I know where he is."

Hermione had expected the gasp and then the stark silence that followed. She waited a moment before daring to glance up at her friend, not certain what she would find awaiting her. Ginny looked shocked, her mouth having fallen open slightly in her surprise.

"T-this whole time?" she whispered in shock.

Hermione bit her lip and nodded in hesitation.

"He's…he's outside of London. He…I've been protecting him."

"You know where he is?"

Ginny's voice was followed only by Hermione's nod.

"And he's alive?"

"Yes."

Ginny's expression melted from confusion into a mild realization.

"So all this time you've been helping _them_…because he's alive?"

Hermione felt her eyes pooling with fresh tears and she shook her head, speaking thickly.

"No, not just because of that!" she exclaimed, feeling ashamed at the selfishness that she was obviously exhibiting. "You know that if we don't try…we'll never be free of all this prejudice. The war might be over but there won't ever be true peace! Don't you want that for your children? For Leo? For all the children not yet born?"

Ginny did not reply but her expression was terse and she would not look at Hermione. The silence was piercing.

"Is he with the others?"

Hermione took a shaking breath.

"No, no…he's…there's a house. He's been hiding."

Ginny finally gazed upon her friend, searching Hermione's broken expression and knowing without having to ask, where Draco was.

"Bloody hell, the house you purchased for the Ministry!"

The expression was not a question; it was a certainty.

"So you've spoken to him? Not just…"

Hermione began to sob in earnest.

"I never meant to let it get so out of control," she swore. "I only wanted to make sure he was all right, to spend a moment with him! I want him to be safe and…"

Time stopped for a second and Hermione felt frozen until she felt the warmth of Ginny's touch.

"And you love him," Ginny finished.

"It's a shameful thing," Hermione spat, disgusted with herself and yet unable to deny the truth.

"No, love is never shameful. You _love_ him."

Hermione sat up, still clasping Ginny's hands tightly in her own.

"I love Neville," she insisted, her voice trembling with determination. "My vows are to _him_ and my life with is _him!_ I should never have stopped! I shouldn't have allowed myself to feel again for someone else. I chose Neville and now, no matter what I do, I'm going to destroy someone's life!"

It felt somehow liberating to Hermione as the words tumbled from her lips, lightening her soul and eliminating some of the dark burden she had been carrying. Gently, Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione and pulled her into a hug.

"Oh, Hermione, there are so many ways to love someone," she murmured. "You can't do this to yourself. You can't help loving two men."

Hermione leaned on her friend's shoulder as she shook her head miserably.

"I just don't know what to do," she mumbled.

"What about Draco? What does he say?" Ginny asked softly.

"He feels the same way I do! And yet something…pulls us together and I can't explain it, Gin! It's more powerful than magic…more…it's as pathetic as knowing that without him I'm only half a person. Like if he's gone, my life isn't worth living."

Ginny was silent, watching Hermione as she spoke.

"I…they would all think I was horrid," she whispered. "If they knew I loved him even before he swore to protect me, even before he showed me the good inside of him. I loved him in spite of his Mark and in that way…I feel like I've turned on all those people who love me."

Ginny shook her head, her eyes watering for a moment.

"No, darling, you haven't. You're good and honest and you deserve all the happiness in the world. I'm only sorry that I can't fix this for you."

She fell silent and her words echoed for a few moments before silence reigned. It was a horrible, unsettled silence, for Hermione had hoped to somehow fix all her problems. But of course that had been a fool's fancy.

A few moments later, Ginny straightened and stood turning a sympathetic gaze down on Hermione.

"You have to remember your family, Hermione. You have a son and a husband! I know this isn't easy but keeping this a secret…it's not right."

Hermione nodded, swallowing the thickness that had settled in her throat, which was still sore from her sobbing.

"Draco's seen Leo."

"What!"

"I brought him here," Hermione whispered hurriedly. "So Draco could look and I…how can I hurt Draco that way? How can I take his son away from him?"

She grew increasingly agitated.

"And if I tell Neville the truth it'll destroy him! I can't be responsible for that! I love him too!"

Ginny sighed, her hand on the doorknob.

"You can't keep Draco hidden forever," she reminded gravely. "Sooner or later, if Zabini has his way, he'll be caught. If you can help him escape, you'll lose him either way."

Hermione was riveted to the spot, staring up at Ginny, her mouth going sour. It was true; Hermione knew she had been living from moment to moment, not thinking about what she would do when the time came to say good-bye.

_I want you, Draco, for as long as I can have you._

Those words echoed in the recesses of her mind, a cruel reminder of the short time she might have with the man who held her whole heart.

"I know it," she said flatly.

Ginny bit her lip.

"I will never stop being on your side, Hermione. But I don't envy the choice you'll have to make one day. I can only hope that you take my advice and tell Neville. He deserves to know and you might need him someday."

Hermione dropped her eyes in shame staring down at her hands clenched so tightly together the knuckles had gone white. Ginny had told her the unwelcome truth and she knew that she would have to find a way to tell the truth. She could only pray and hope that it wouldn't destroy everything she had worked so hard to build.

What choice did she have?


	68. Chapter 68

_I love you guys! Thanks so much. As I was reading over the reviews from the last several chapters I realized that I've never actually gone to the Harry Potter Wikia. Funny, right? Not that it matters since, as one reviewer pointed out, it is fan fiction and I can change the character blood status to whatever I want but I just wanted to point out that I'm not pulling my characterizations out of thin air. I promise. All my detailing comes from either my beta or the Harry Potter Lexicon. Having said that, at the Lexicon, Lavender's blood status hasn't yet been confirmed by Jo and so technically she might actually be a Muggle-born (although that's debatable). Dean is half-blood. :) I'm going to go check out the Wikia now and compare/contrast. Thanks again guys! Here's more although this is just a chapter that's moving towards something a bit bigger so it's not exactly thrilling, lol! Maybe I could have continued but it would have ended up a monster of a chapter. Enjoy this portion anyhow because it keeps me writing. :) _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT<p>

* * *

><p><em>There are a thousand ways to love someone.<em>

Hermione stood in the doorway of her husband's study watching him lost in his work. Often times he hated to stay at the Ministry longer than he had to and so he brought his work home with him.

_Some are born with the desire for power and others have it thrust upon them._

Hermione knew Neville had never asked to be the Minister for Magic. She knew that he had been happiest when she had first crossed paths with him again – the absent minded yet brilliant Healer in Cardiff. That's where he belonged – at the Clinic he had founded in memory of his parents.

_Taking the Ministry post has only served to ruin him just a bit. And now I'm going to add to it!_

Her eyes burned as she stepped into the room. He worked by a small light on his desk and the windows wide open with the luxurious drapes drawn. To his left, a cup of tea sat steaming even though it was now springtime and a cooler beverage would have been more appropriate. But Neville always drank hot tea with a bit of ginger in it. And behind him there was soft music playing. Hermione recognized it as something by the Weird Sisters. Only Neville would claim such music as timeless and it brought a sad smile to her lips.

"Neville?"

He didn't jump as she had assumed he would have being that he had seemed so deep in his work. He looked up slowly and Hermione saw a flicker of something in his eyes but knew from his expression that he hadn't truly been working. Perhaps there was a distraction greater than his need to finish the work before him.

Neville's hair was mussed and as Hermione took him in she noticed the finest threads of silver amidst the caramel brown locks. The job was aging him it seemed. He frowned for a moment, biting the end of his quill as he studied her.

"Long day?"

There was tension between them and Hermione was saddened by this. When had it started? Had she simply not noticed and it had always been there? No. No, she knew it was because Draco was back in her life. Because now she was keeping things from Neville – things that were bigger than herself.

"Something like that," she agreed, her voice thick. "I had dinner with Ginny and Seamus."

Then she removed a small, stuffed rabbit from the bag she had carried into the room.

"And then picked this up for Leo," she commented, setting the thing on his desk, hoping to make him smile.

Neville's face remained serious; only a ghost of a smile flickered across it.

"I thought we discussed not getting Leo anything extra for his birthday this year?" he commented, sitting back and gazing at the brown and blue toy.

Hermione flushed pink.

"You know how he loves Babbity Rabbity! I couldn't help myself!" she effused then, though it was going to be the only truth amidst yet more lies.

Draco had given her money and Hermione had gone out to quickly pick up a toy for Leo that would be only from him and no one else. But how would she ever tell Neville that?

She had to; this _had_ to end. She wouldn't survive these lies! Like a horcrux, each lie seemed to split her soul into more and more tiny, unfeeling pieces. Neville stood and walked to the windows stiffly. Hermione could see that it was a bad day for his leg.

"Neville," she began again, this time her voice trembling. "I need to talk to you about something important."

There was a long silence and Neville never turned around. Once again, Hermione was reminded of how something had changed between them. In another time, Neville would have led her to his favorite, worn couch and held her hands so that she could tell him what was on her heart. But the man that stood facing away from her was stiff and silent.

Still, she knew she had to tell the truth even if it killed her.

"Neville-"

"I talked to Pansy Parkinson today," he interrupted in a strange, cool voice.

Hermione's heart stopped. Did he know? Would Pansy have told him all those long hidden secrets that they both shared? Certainly she hadn't known about Draco being alive, but she knew what had happened all those months of captivity at the alienage – all the abuse and beatings, the horrors Flint had put her through…

Hermione felt like she would be sick as she waited for Neville to continue.

"I relieved Blaise Zabini of his duties this afternoon."

It was the last thing she had expected to hear and Hermione's voice escaped her in a wheezy rush.

"What?" she squeaked out.

"He no longer works for the Ministry."

The words took a few moments to sink in and by that time Neville had turned to face his shocked wife.

"I thought you would have been happier, Hermione."

"I…"

Her eyes were wide and she was at a loss for words though the look on Neville's face matched the strangeness of his voice.

"Although…maybe not. Seeing as you've been meeting with him behind my back and lying to me about what Pansy Parkinson did to you all those years ago. White-washing the actions of horrible men who abused you and treated you worse than garbage."

Hermione had never heard Neville's voice so unfeeling and yet she was unable to stop him.

"What else have you kept from me? How long do I have to wait until you realize and believe that I love you and I would never turn on you no matter what horrors you share with me?"

He turned, his face a visage of despair, and took a few faltering steps towards her, color rising high up on his cheeks.

"Do you know how I felt when I stared Parkinson in the face and had to hear her tell me what she did to you?" he hissed. "I _loathe_ her and yet all at the same time I admire her for the courage _you _don't possess!"

Hermione felt herself growing faint as she took two steps back, falling against one of the large bookshelves that adorned the east side of Neville's study.

"You don't understand…"

"I do," he replied. "I do understand. I understand that you've refused to share with me those times that hurt you the most. I understand that you don't trust me. And I understand you for a fool! The things she told me!" he exclaimed angrily, flinging out his hands. "I am not a violent man but it took all of me not to curse her to oblivion! It's wonder Ginny despises her! No wonder Blaise was attempting to eradicate such filth from the wizarding world!"

Hermione saw his anger; she could taste it and suddenly hot tears of pain blurred her field of vision.

"Blaise is a lunatic! You can't really think that he has a point-?"

Her lips were trembling violently as she sought the right way to express herself.

"He's after both of us! It's just another sick agenda for him and now that you've removed him from his Ministry post it's only going to get worse!"

Neville shook his head with confusion.

"What is it you want from me, Hermione? You've gone on and on about how wrong it was for Zabini to remain with the Ministry with all his no tolerance beliefs and the moment I finally make a decision to remove him from his post you're singing a new tune?"

Her eyes flooded with hot tears.

"It's not like that! All I want is peace!" she cried out with exasperation.

"There is no such thing!" he cried back.

"This is why I was afraid to tell you! Look at yourself! Don't you see how angry you are?"

"I'm angry because I want to love you and you won't let me!" he roared at her. "This isn't really about Zabini or anything to do with the Ministry! I might not be the best Minister but I know Zabini is unstable and dangerous. I was a bit afraid to do what I should have months ago but now it's done. This is about me wanting to do what is right for us and for our relationship. Why can't you see that? Why won't you trust me with your past? Why won't you let the past go and let me love you?"

Hermione was shaking with the realization that this was it; she felt herself trembling with fear. She felt an aching sense of trepidation at the possibility that she would hurt this man far more than she desired.

Her breath came in huge heaves.

"I want to let you!" she cried out. "Is that what it would take for you to trust me, Neville? For me to rehash all those horrors?"

Neville's eyes gleamed with tears.

"It's not like that! I only want you to _trust_ me!"

They stared at one another with intensity. Hermione was the first to break their silence.

"What did she tell you?"

The question was flat and weakened by her earlier outburst. Neville winced visibly as she gazed at him.

"She told me that she tried to kill you. She said she kidnapped Lily so she could manipulate you. She spoke of hatred so strong even I don't know that I could feel it. And I know how to hate, Hermione. I know what it feels like to hate someone so much you'd enjoy watching their demise. I'm only sorry I wasn't there when Bellatrix Lestrange was given to the Dementors."

There was a moment where Hermione was certain she could actually feel Neville's despair and rage. It passed like a spring breeze, leaving her cold and broken.

"Neville…"

"I saw her remorse. I saw that she was sorry for all the things she did to you."

Hermione swallowed.

"She saved my life," she whispered. "I would never have found my way to St. David's if it hadn't been for Pansy. You can hate me for a lot of things, Neville, but I owed her a debt and I repaid it."

Neville shook his head sadly.

"I could never hate you," he said and then she felt his arms around her. The feeling of being in his embrace served only to make her feel even more disgusted with herself.

"I just…I don't know how to express myself anymore," he murmured against her hair. "I want to make this work; I want to be with you…"

Hermione felt horrible and yet too weak to pull away and scream out the truth.

That she loved another man.

That she would never love Neville the way he deserved.

That she was a horrible woman and deserved nothing but his utter contempt.

Sighing, she fell limp against him, burying her face in her hands.

"I'll tell you what you want to know."

Her words were muffled and shameful.

* * *

><p>Lavender sat just inside the double doors that led out onto the huge, second floor balcony of her home. She preferred the shade to the warm sunlight that had been filtering through the filmy curtains that lined each side of the glass doors.<p>

Daisy sat out on the balcony at a small, white wooden table made just for her, working diligently at a small crayon portrait of what she had said was 'her family'.

There had been a time before, when Lavender had wanted nothing more than to spend all her free moments at her husband's side but those days were gone. Now, she much preferred the quiet afternoons after Daisy flooed home with the nanny hired to take her to and from school, when she would have some time to spend with her before Blaise returned home.

If he did.

Lately, he hadn't been home at all and that morning she had first heard of Neville Longbottom's decision to remove Blaise from his Ministry post. She knew her husband well enough to know that there would be nothing but hatred and madness when he returned. It seemed impossible that the warm, tranquil afternoon could that quickly be marred.

And so Lavender determined to enjoy whatever was left of it.

She watched her daughter thoughtfully, searching her small but perfect features, wondering what she had and hadn't inherited from her father. She had been an undoubtedly beautiful baby and each day that passed she was growing into a little girl as lovely as the storybooks Lavender recalled reading a child. She possessed flawless skin the color of caramel and dark honey and curly, blue-black hair. She was, without a doubt, a miniature portrait of her father, nearly identical if as yet not complete. Lavender knew that even if she managed to escape the life she had now she would never escape Blaise's memory for it would be etched into the lines of her little girl's face forever. And she would never give up her little girl.

She only wondered if escape was what she truly wanted. Lavender had never been a fool and she wasn't blind to the fact that living as Blaise's wife was no better than being his whore. Their relationship had come full circle; he no longer wanted her as anything more than a body to warm his bed, as a woman to satisfy his carnal needs. It was nothing knew to Lavender but it was painful for she had never loved anyone the way she loved him. The only difference between the life she had left behind and this new one was the fact that she was surrounded by opulence and comforts she had known nothing of during the war. Comforts and pleasures she had taken in place of what she truly wanted – Blaise's whole heart. It was the one thing he had taken from her and refused to give back.

The fear that gripped her was the uncertainty of her own strength – if she would be able to take Daisy and flee the life she had created in London. She loved Blaise; she could no more stop loving him than she could stop breathing. It was all too easy to say that she would leave him but so much more difficult to actually _do._

Daisy had stopped coloring and approached her troubled mother.

"Mama, is daddy sad again?"

For someone so young it often had both thrilled and frightened Lavender that Daisy possessed such a perceptive mind.

"Sometimes, I think."

"Why?"

"It's work, my love."

"Will he come home today? Teacher returned my printing book today. I want to show him."

Lavender brushed aside Daisy's silk, black curls from her shoulders and she bit her lip.

"I know you do, darling. And you will. He should be home any minute."

Daisy studied her mother thoughtfully and then with increasing doubt. But Lavender could offer no more words for just then the door downstairs slammed with such vehemence it made the youngest Zabini jump.

He was home and Lavender felt her heart quicken as she stood to await Blaise. She knew he would be in a rage, especially on this day. More and more he had taken to sullen, angry silences. More and more he ignored his daughter making her worry and wonder what had changed. He would spend hours in the study with a bottle of firewhisky and if he emerged for a shower or supper he would mutter about nothing but Death Eaters. At times, Lavender would wonder if he even knew where he _was_.

His heavy footsteps darkened the stairs and Lavender stood between him and their daughter as if to shield Daisy from anything that might harm or startle her. Blaise had long forgotten how young she still was. She had given the nanny a day off and now regretted the decision; she didn't want Daisy to see her father in any right state- especially since lately his states had been those of violence and rage.

The door flew open and he stood there, his face darkened.

"Blaise," she began. "I'm so sorry about work-"

Lavender approached him so to stave his anger at least a bit, hoping that Daisy would not have to witness it.

"No."

The word was clear in its meaning and Lavender stopped short, holding her breath.

"How is that bastard of a Minister find the balls to get rid of me?" he raged. "Who the bleeding HELL does he think he is?"

Lavender felt the grip of Daisy's small hands on her skirts and it gave her the strength to raise her voice.

"Stop this, now! Don't you see your daughter is in the room? Don't you dare raise your voice!" she exclaimed.

The silence was stark and bitter as Blaise's onyx eyes flickered down towards his child as if she were a mere nuisance and not the fruit of his love for the woman he had married.

"Where is the nanny?"

His words were dismissive and they caused Lavender to bristle.

"I gave her an afternoon off. Is it so horrible that we spend time together as a family? Must you do this over and over again?" She demanded.

Blaise stepped forward gracefully, closing the distance between them as his dark-skinned hand came to rest upon Lavender's cheek.

"Call the nanny if you wish our child not to hear," he hissed.

There was nothing to be done and as Blaise whirled and stalked from the room and down the stairs, Lavender knelt to floo the nanny. Downstairs there could be heard the slamming of the study door and at the same time, she heard Daisy let out a stifled sob.

"Darling, don't cry."

The words were truly a waste for Daisy's eyes had filled with tears of disappointment.

"He's mad at me?"

"No, love, never!" soothed Lavender. "I told you, it's just his work."

All lies, she knew, but she refused to hurt Daisy further.

"I don't like him anymore!" exclaimed the little girl and Lavender pulled her close to press a kiss to her satiny, tear-streaked cheek.

_Sometimes, I understand how you feel, my little darling. Sometimes I even feel the same way._

* * *

><p>Dust motes danced in the hazy, afternoon sunlight as it came through the grimy windows of the old brick house on the hill. Most times it was so silent Draco thought he might go mad. But he had his thoughts to keep him company and his hopes as well. After having lost everything, even such a small glimmer of light seemed a blessing.<p>

Unfortunately, the reality was as much hopeless as it was hopeful for his joy and dreams were wrapped up in Hermione Longbottom – the love of his life who was married to a man Draco was beginning to despise.

_I want you for as long as I can have you._

He wondered how long it would be. He wondered how abruptly she would be taken from him. He fought back the terrible fear of going through life once more without her.

_As long as I can have you…_

Draco lived from moment to moment – each second she was with him, bringing that undying fire and hope with her, each kiss, each caress, every moment spent in her arms making love…

Those were the only things worth living for now because he was nothing more than a broken prisoner in a temporary shelter. And what would happen after?

Downstairs he heard the door open and his heart lightened knowing that at least for the next while he wouldn't be alone because Hermione would be with him.

_Hermione._

Draco stood, moving quickly to open the door of the room that he had claimed as his own. It was the furthest one to the back of the house…just in case. For a moment he waited with baited breath to hear her voice call out his name. It had quickly become the most beautiful sound in the world to him.

But nothing sang up the stairs and the silence mocked him. The door shut again, this time more furtively and suddenly he felt a shiver of fear run up his spine.

_It's not Hermione!_

Draco's breathing grew shallow and rapid as he gripped the faded, plaster wall along the staircase peering down the shadowed, dusty stairway. No one was creeping up to find him. In fact, he heard nothing at all.

He stood rooted in place feeling more helpless than he had ever felt before. He had no wand and no way of escaping unless he threw himself out of his window. For a second he relished the thought of such oblivion but it did not last.

Downstairs he heard quiet, masked footsteps and he gracefully snuck away from the stairs moving towards the hallway as quickly and quietly as he could. In spite of his dismal life and the fact that there was little hope for him, Draco still clung to life, clung to the hope that Hermione-

"Stop."

He did, nearly yelling out in surprise as he whirled to face the intruder. She stood wand aloft and brown eyes glimmering in the half-shadows.

"Potter," he wheezed, nearly falling to his knees as weakness of relief overcame him.

Stumbling forward, Draco peered up into Ginny Potter's stern expression wishing he knew better how to read her mind. Though he was a good Legilimens the task proved impossible amidst the turmoil of his mind.

"I nearly didn't believe her," she half-whispered, awestruck. "But you _are_ alive."

As Draco faced Ginny he saw flashes of moments from the past – of Hogwarts when he had made fun of the Weasley offspring, of seeing her again in the God-forsaken alienage but most of all…

He was reminded of little, four year old Lily Potter – staring up at him with wide green eyes. Draco had never been able to erase the image of that little girl from his mind, standing silently in Pansy's tiny apartment, mature beyond her years, gazing at him steadily. Harry Potter's eyes and Ginny's face.

Feeling awful, he tore his gaze away.

"It's like I've seen a ghost," Ginny whispered.

* * *

><p>Lavender accepted his weight just as she had accepted the weight of so many men before him. He was heavy and warm and she longed to bury her fingers in his thick, black hair and lose herself yet again in the fantasy that he loved her and she wasn't simply an object but the woman he loved.<p>

It had been like that once.

Lavender's eyes closed, tears seeping from them slowly as he took her over and over, violently, mindlessly, in an ancient rhythm that was more primal and habitual than it was passionate and loving.

Just and object – just a body. That's all she had become and the only way Lavender could deal with the reality was to allow herself moments of fancy, reveling in what might have been.

This time, he had hardly even waited until the nanny whisked Daisy away before tearing Lavender's clothes from her body and claiming her with needful, mindless movements. It was as if he had no conscience, no mind to where he was and what he was doing.

And she allowed it, pliant and giving in the face of his carnal demands.

She clung to him, her fingers pale against his warm, coffee-colored flesh – a stark contrast. He moved faster and she longed for a kiss, a whisper, an indication that he loved her. But none ever came for he simply found his release and fell limply against her body spent and sated. Just like all the other men she had offered herself to in back alleys, crowded pubs and flea-infested hotel rooms.

_Nothing but a whore. A well dressed, well fed whore._

After sex, Blaise always seemed to grow thoughtful and mellow, those hard edges of him melting and the madness fading away for awhile. Lavender held his hand as he rolled away from her against the silken, twisted sheets. She stared at his profile, the afternoon sunlight playing against his sweat-dewy skin. She tried once more to speak with him.

"I really am sorry about what happened with the Ministry."

Her voice was low and hesitant and he twitched at her words.

"You needn't be. It is Longbottom's wife that's the problem. Once I take care of her all will be well, you'll see."

When he turned, Lavender spied a tiny smile playing on the corners of his sensuous mouth. It both thrilled and frightened her.

"Take…care of her?"

Blaise offered a chortle and Lavender felt like she was being laughed at, like a child would be at asking something that everyone else understood.

"Come now, Lavender. You can't tell me that you don't resent her. She's a nosy, bossy and controlling little harpy and she deserves to be put in her place. Why, you know just as well as I do that a common Death Eater's whore can't truly esteem to be the Minister's wife forever, don't you?"

He was talking down to her; it happened often. He was condescending and acrid and Lavender hated when he made her feel stupid. Still, she remained silent because Blaise spoke the truth – perhaps it was a twisted form of the truth like all the truths in his life, but it was no less true. She hated her inability to let bygones be bygones and yet something inside of her refused to let the resentment go.

She would never understand why Draco Malfoy had passed over her.

She would never understand why Hermione had been a better choice when they had been equal in their life and blood status.

Lavender would never forget that while she was being raped at the alienage, Hermione had spent her days protected and cared for by a turncoat Death Eater. And as Hermione clung to Draco, Lavender had clung to the hope that she and Blaise would one day be reunited and live happily ever after.

_What a sodding joke._

She was living her happily ever after now and it was unadulterated hell. She was sleeping with the devil and unable to break away from him completely because she feared him nearly as much as she adored him. Hermione, on the other hand, was living a life of perfection! She had a caring, devoted and loving husband and a child that was a beautiful reminder of the love she had lost.

_I do hate her._

Blaise knew it, too. He was uncannily good at reading her mind at all times and Lavender had stopped protecting her thoughts, allowing him to claim her, body, heart and mind. She could deny it until her last breath and still he would know she was lying.

Even now he was watching her, mocking her with those beautiful, onyx eyes, daring her to deny his words.

"We're in this together, my darling, little wife," he said slyly. "Until death do we part, yes? After all, the job hinges on your security and on the security of the daughter you love so much. You'll help me."

Lavender grew indignant.

"I won't _help _you take _care_ of her if you mean…_murder," _she hissed, her blue eyes widening.

To this, Blaise let out a hearty laugh; it was the first time she could recall him laughing in months and months.

"Nothing so dramatic, my dear," he soothed; though beneath the silky tone of complacency lay something much more sinister. "I mean only to scare her a little bit."

Lavender stared at her husband.

"You've forgotten already what she and I went through at the hands of the old Ministry? How can you imagine that we have any fear left?"

Blaise offered a smile.

"Sometimes it takes but a small reminder to bring all that horror back. The mind, I've found, is a powerful thing."

Their eyes met in the growing shadows of the bedroom and Lavender had no ability to hide her fear which she could see made him happy. Fear had been Voldemort's tool – a means by which he maintained control. It was no surprise that after everything he had done, Blaise was still at his heart the same man that he had always been.

"I think we should forget this and leave London, Blaise. Just you, me and Daisy…we can find a new life somewhere else! Maybe you weren't meant to s-stay here," she said fearfully but even as she spoke the words she could see the offering of a complacent smile on his lips but his eyes boring into her and telling her she would never get her way.

"I'll only ask a small thing of you, I promise. Just remember, it will ensure your position in this new society. You are my wife; does that not make you happy? What about this home that we share and all the creature comforts you have gotten used to?"

He raised a beautifully arched brow.

"You know you could lose these things just as quickly as you gained them."

Lavender swallowed and her lips parted to speak but she didn't have to utter a word because he already _knew _her mind.

"Blaise, it could be amazing! A new life; can't we think on it?"

He ignored her, waiting patiently for her to finish speaking before he continued.

"You'll do it because you love me," he said, offering her a smile that was meant to seduce but served only to make her feel unnerved. Blaise leaned closer.

"You'll do it because you are my wife," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Lavender's mouth.

She hesitated and there was an electric silence as his eyes bore into hers with determination, freezing everything in her down to her very will. Then he stood, his nude body a dark silhouette against the bright, setting sunlight and he moved gracefully towards the door through which he exited.

She was alone and tears rolled down her flushed cheeks as his final thoughts echoed over and over again in her mind:

_You'll do it because you were nothing but a common Mudblood whore before I rescued you and for that you owe me more than your life. You'll do it because you have no choice._

She lay weeping, surrounded by more worldly possessions than she had ever imagined she would have and yet feeling more empty and alone than she ever had before.

* * *

><p>Indeed, it <em>was<em> like seeing a ghost, Ginny thought as she stared at Malfoy.

He was shrouded by long afternoon shadows, his skin pale and translucent and his face framed by silky, blond hair that looked almost white from where she was standing. His face was drawn and tense, his lips turned down in a scowl and the only sign of life was the lighting that flashed in the depths of his gray eyes.

"I always thought I might get captured again someday."

His words were firm but there was no mistaking the fear in them.

"I just never thought it would be by someone I…knew."

His lips curled up into a ghost of a smirk and Ginny snorted.

"You think me one of Zabini's lackeys, do you?"

Draco stared wordlessly at her.

"And aren't you? If you've come to turn me in, I won't fight you. I haven't a wand or the strength."

Ginny's lip twitched for a moment as she tucked her wand away and sighed.

"I'm not here to bring you harm," she said softly and Draco glared at her in disbelief, the silence between them lengthening as the seconds passed. Ginny faltered with her words.

"I only…when Hermione said…I only wanted to know if it was true," she finished with uncertainty.

Draco's face had changed at the mention of Hermione's name; his cheeks had gained color and the harshness had melted away.

"Does she know you're here?" he rasped.

"No," replied Ginny. "I wanted to come on my own. She told me where you were."

She took a step forward and Draco jumped like a skittish colt, causing her to stop once again. She searched for the right words to say what she needed to.

"I came here because I owe you my gratitude and I have yet to offer it."

Draco's eyes widened but she cut him off just as he was about to speak.

"I let my anger get the best of me and forgot that you were good to Hermione for so long. I haven't forgotten what you did for her when Pansy-"

Her voice had grown hoarse and she brought her trembling fingers up to her mouth for a moment before continuing.

"And what you tried to do for Lily…there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of that."

Draco was watching her curiously but Ginny couldn't quite tell what he was thinking, if anything. When he spoke, it was a broken sound.

"Hermione is the selfless one, Ginny."

It was odd to hear her own name on Draco Malfoy's lips. Much too odd.

"She isn't the only one. Thank you for watching over her when she needed you. Thank you for watching over my daughter. And thank you for loving Hermione."

Draco let out a dry hiss.

"All I did was ruin her life."

"By loving her? You saved her!"

"I should never have come here."

"She loves you."

Draco turned from Ginny but she had glimpsed a shimmering of self-hatred in his eyes before he tore them away.

"It doesn't matter what you've done or haven't done. I want to help you. Let me help you both."

She reached to put her hand in his in an offer of friendship.


	69. Chapter 69

_Here we are again! Loads going on in this chapter of the story! I hope you enjoy. Oh, and to those who have pointed out my huge Luna mistake, thank you. I'm going to be having my beta go through and I'm positive she'll remind me to fix it. My bad. To all my readers in the US, have a good Memorial Day weekend. It's a hot one here! Thanks for all your reviews, alerts and faves – very much appreciated as always. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE<p>

* * *

><p>The moment she shut the door of what had formerly been Blaise's office, Lavender let out the breath she had been holding. It seemed like she had been holding that same breath for an ageless time.<p>

For a few moments she stood in complete stillness, taking deep, cleansing breaths. Blaise's scent still lingered in the cool air as if he had just been there. Closing her eyes, Lavender focused on the task at hand and then walked with purpose towards the back closet, finding the book just where Blaise had instructed her it would be.

Wrapping her fingers around the black, leather volume, she stood and closed her eyes, willing herself to Apparate closer to the Minister's corridor. Nothing happened.

Lavender stifled a groan of frustration for she dreaded having to make her way through the empty corridors without using magical means. Perhaps Neville had put a block on Apparition within the building. Or maybe there was some sort of magical ward…

But now that she had gotten into the building under the guise of 'packing up some of Blaise's things' there was nothing to do but go forward. Taking a deep breath and gripping the book more tightly, Lavender took a deep breath and opened the door leading to the empty, marbled corridor.

Each shuffle, each distant thump and thrum, ever single muted sound made her jump but she had already determined to do this thing for Blaise. It wasn't like she had much choice anyway. Her husband was a madman and she feared him.

* * *

><p><em>Hours later<em>

The marbled corridors within the Ministry of Magic were silent. No one was about except for the old watch wizard who always stayed a bit after hours to make sure all was well before going home for the night. All was shrouded with heavy shadows.

Neville felt uneasy as he moved behind Hermione towards the door to his office. He wasn't why he felt like something wasn't right. The Ministry of Magic headquarters held no warm memories for him – he was certain of that. He would never forget what had happened in the Department of Mysteries so many years ago. He would forever hold it in his heart as he had the death of his parents and the reason they had never had a chance to life full lives.

Shuddering, Neville stopped when they both reached the entrance to his door.

Hermione had begged him to take her to the Ministry, to his office, so that they would have complete privacy. He had wanted to argue that there was no one at home and that she was safe to tell him what was on her heart but she had begged him with tears in her eyes, terrified that someone might overhear.

In the end he had given up and together they had Apparated to the Ministry Headquarters hand in hand. Hermione had offered no conversation and the silence dragged on and on, adding to the uneasiness that shrouded Neville's heart.

His office was as he had left it, books and papers scattered messily atop his desk and a dirty teacup with the remnants of his special leaf blend in the bottom. The room was scented faintly with ginger. A small, overstuffed sofa occupied the wall near his bookshelves and he led Hermione there, helping her to sit.

She was pale and drawn, staring listlessly at nothing and for a while, he sat next to her, having taken her icy hand in his to warm it.

"I need you to tell me what you can, Hermione. I know you love me. But you don't trust me. I can live with that as long as we can try to move forward. If you'd just try…"

She gnawed her bottom lip and a sudden blooming of color appeared there. Neville saw her nod faintly.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm going to try, Neville. I'm going to tell you all those things that happened at the alienage."

He waited but she only sat there, worrying her lip. A sound from the doorway made them both jump but it was only the cleaning staff.

"All's well, Minister?" said a stooped, little wizard as he quickly emptied the trash bin and tidied up the room a bit.

"Quite good," Neville lied hoping that in spite of his turmoil the reply would be assuring. "No one about?"

The wizard smiled as he stood by the doorway to leave again.

"No one for a few hours, Minister. Just Mr. Zabini's wife came to get some of his things. She's been gone a while now."

Neville bid the older man good day and then sat brooding about his decision regarding Zabini. It was just _another_ thing to add to his growing mountain of unease.

"Hermione."

His gentle whisper seemed to awaken her from whatever trance she had been in and she looked at him blankly.

"Do you need anything?"

His offer was met with silence but Neville felt helpless to say anything else and he waited with baited breath. Hermione shook a bit before speaking; clasping his hands tightly in her icy grip.

"I know you might not understand," she began. "But there was a time when I had no choices. There was a time when I was no better than the rubbish in your bin. Because of my blood; because of who I was."

She was shaking still, anger making her voice tremble.

"They came one night, broke into our flat and whisked us away to that God forsaken alienage like we were nothing but animals! When we arrived…they…they separated us and took the Weasley men away. It was the last time any of us saw them. They…they would send the ones they found useless to the Dementors. A-and children; they took the children especially."

Her thick hair masked her pale face so that Neville could see nothing.

"Lily was only four and she was so small! They…I heard them say they would send her to the Dementors but one of the Officials…he was different than the others."

When she gazed up at him Neville was cognizant of how deeply she believed what she was saying even though he could offer nothing but skepticism.

"You're talking about _Malfoy_."

The derision made Hermione tremble and he was helpless to stop himself even in the face of the pain he was causing her. She clenched her jaw.

"Yes."

"Forgive me if I don't believe he could possibly be any different than the rest of the scum that worked for the Ministry."

"He was! Those others hurt…the children. Shoved Albus around making him cry! I defended Lily and they…I remember how hard they knocked me to the ground and it was Malfoy who took pity on me! He spared Lily from the Dementors!"

Neville's face was a darkened mask of disgust.

"And what did his pity cost you, Hermione? After all, this is Malfoy we're talking about. When has he done anything not to his benefit?"

Even as he spoke the nasty, cold words he could see the sudden shimmer of tears in Hermione's eyes.

"Nothing!" she spat defensively before curling into herself, not allowing his touch.

The silence was long and thick with tension. It was a long time before Hermione could speak again and her voice was broken.

"I didn't mind the beatings. I could deal with the hunger, pain and loneliness. I didn't care that Pansy Parkinson seemed to hate me more than she hated anyone. I didn't care _until_ she took Lily!"

When she looked up, her face was a tearful mask of despair and quiet rage.

"Wouldn't you have done anything to help her? Wouldn't you have given your very life? I only did what I had to and I had little to offer but my..."

Neville wished he knew each and every one of the flickering emotions in her eyes. He wished he could make all her pain go away; he wished he could take it upon himself because he loved her too much to see her suffering this way. She took a deep, shaking breath.

"No matter what you might say, Neville, you'll never understand what I went through. You'll never know what it was like in those alienages, suffering the way I did, the way we all did-"

Her words struck a nerve but Neville wasn't certain why. He only knew that he felt resentment radiating from each and every syllable and he loathed it.

"Why would you say I don't understand? Because I'm _pureblood_?" he asked mockingly. "Because I didn't suffer like _you_ did, Hermione? Bollocks! Don't you ever dare _imply_ I don't know suffering!"

She glared at him and her reply was a strangled cry.

"I never did! But you weren't starved, beaten, tortured, and starved some more! You weren't made to feel like nothing! You weren't…"

She faltered and more tears fell as she struggled for words.

"As a _woman_ and a _Muggle-born_ I had little to offer anyone."

Her voice was strained with emphasis and Neville felt her clear warning: do not interrupt. He was indignant but remained silent as she continued.

"And Malfoy had been watching me. They all said so. Some of the women…they were jealous. They would have wanted him to…favor them because offering a Death Eater Official your virtue seemed like such a small price to pay for safety. And…I knew that."

Neville felt rage flow through his veins as if it had replaced the blood that had been there only moments before.

"I was ashamed," she whispered. "But I offered myself to Malfoy. I thought he was different and I…I became his mistress, his lover, whatever it was he wanted in return for the assurance that Lily would be safe."

Her eyes shimmered in the shadows but they were full of certainty. Neville stared at his wife, stunned at her admission.

* * *

><p>"You want to help me?"<p>

Draco's echo of Ginny's words rang out in the dusty room and it sounded incredulous though he did not remove his hand from her grasp. Somehow it felt good to have someone else care – someone besides Hermione.

His heard thudded dully.

"How could you possibly help me without tarnishing your reputation and everything you've built up since the war ended?"

Now his words were tight and bitter but Ginny paid no mind.

"I don't have a reputation to uphold," she replied. "Nor am I weighed down by the guilt of loving a man who is not my husband."

Draco turned, wincing as he heard her say those words. It was true wasn't it? He might have felt guilt for putting Hermione in such a position but it couldn't nearly be like the burden of guilt she felt, could it?

Bloody _shit_. His mind was spinning.

"Listen, Potter. I appreciate your offer," he said flatly and with unmistakable stubbornness. "But no one can help me now."

Ginny had let go of his hand and watched him from her side of the room, shaking her head.

"She loves you," she whispered. "But she has a duty to the people and to her husband. I don't envy the choice she'll have to make but I love her like a sister and I won't make it harder for her. She wants you safe and I'll do what I can do make sure that happens."

Draco stared, hearing the irrefutability in Potter's words. He sighed with a flicker of fear but mostly with resignation. In the end what could it truly hurt? He had already ruined Hermione's life and he was wanted man. Sooner or later he would die or be captured and killed.

"So…?"

Ginny relaxed and he saw her wand spark in the thickening shadows of sunset.

"So…no one knows you're here and I can make sure it stays that way," she said quickly. "You're a prisoner in this house but I can make sure you don't have to be."

His gray eyes widened in shock and curiosity, in spite of his determination not to trust her.

"You've gone bloody mad," he hissed. "I'm a dead man the first time someone recognizes me! You don't know the things I've seen; how many of those I grew up with and called acquaintances die before my eyes simply for bearing Voldemort's Mark."

Ginny pressed her lips together.

"There are still ways to fool people. I know Charms and loads of them; I was quite good at doing them in school. A hair color change, a Disillusionment Charm…a few Glamour Charms…"

She paused, surveying Draco and he felt like she was considering him as a bloody project of some sort. As she waved her wand quickly he felt himself shifting if only slightly, the feeling making him a bit dizzy. His eyes fluttered closed and he wasn't sure how long it was before he heard her voice once again.

"You can open your eyes now."

Draco did and took in her confident expression. For a moment they stared at one another and he could feel Potter's silent assessment of the handiwork she had done.

"Now all you need is a clean shirt and proper trousers," she said decidedly.

"Potter, I don't know what this is bloody about but-"

He raged at her as Ginny led him to a dusty, cracked, full-length mirror and what he saw reflected there rendered him silent.

"Bloody hell!"

The man looking back at him was a touch taller, just a bit leaner and had a head of neatly combed, dark brown hair and a closely trimmed moustache. His lips and eyes were his own but in the ways that counted he could easily blend into a crowd.

His heart leapt. Could this mean a chance at long-awaited freedom? Would he be able to venture among witches and wizards even for a moment and not be in danger? Would these Charms last long enough for him to take in a breath of fresh air?

And – _oh God_ – would he be able to finally _meet_ his own son?

At that thought Draco stared hard at his reflection, willing himself to not cry.

"Brilliant," he breathed. "It's me…but…_not_ me."

"You're welcome," came her cheeky reply. "All you need now…"

She quickly waved her wand, muttering something under her breath and a moment later she leaned up on her tip-toes to set a black fedora atop his head before handing him a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles which he put on.

"There," she said with a nod of satisfaction.

"And who, pray tell, am I supposed to be, Potter?"

He saw her reflection smiling in the cracked mirror.

"Why, Etamin Black," she said. "An old, rather un-talked about member of the family. Sirius' favorite third cousin."

The look Draco shared with Ginny in the mirror was one of pure bewilderment and awe.

* * *

><p>Hermione couldn't look up, not wanting to see the disgust that she could hear in his voice.<p>

"So you willingly allowed him to take your pride and virtue in exchange for Lily's safety? You offered yourself to that soulless, disgusting bastard and he accepted, didn't he?"

Hermione wanted to tell Neville the truth – that Draco had resisted at first but that would have meant sharing with him that a part of her had _wanted_ such a horrible, disgusting thing. She said nothing about that and forged on tremulously.

"Women were raped there all the time; no matter where you turned, women were abused. Even when we lived in the flats…"

She shuddered thinking about that long ago day when they had heard of the poor witch who had hung herself…

"And what Malfoy and I had…it wasn't as awful as some of the other exchanges that I heard about at the alienages. Some of the Officials beat the women they claimed to be protecting. I was lucky; Malfoy wasn't nearly as awful as some of the others. I cleaned his house and…and I was a maid to his wife. It was good…in some ways. But awful in others because when I returned to the alienage at night the other women would whisper about me and mock me. So you see I was being attacked by my own simply for trying to protect those I loved. And I was hated by the Death Eaters because of my blood status."

Neville's face twisted with distaste though a part of him felt flooded by sympathy. Still, it was so difficult to show it!

"And then you became Malfoy's whore and got pregnant with his child? Is that it? Will you pretend that it wasn't rape?"

His words were a challenge and it took everything in Hermione not to fiercely defend Draco in the face of such misconceptions.

"I told you, it wasn't like that! He wasn't-"

Her weak words were interrupted by the white-hot rage of Neville's sudden explosion.

"For bloody _fuck's_ _SAKE, _Hermione! Listen to yourself!"

He leapt to his feet, startling her into a pathetic, choked sob. His eyes blazed as he whirled on her, trembling with rage.

"I won't do it! I won't listen to you extol the virtues of that evil, selfish devil of a man! It's madness!"

Hermione also stood facing her husband furiously.

"It's not! I told you he never hurt me! It wasn't like that!"

"So how was it?" he yelled. "Was it bleeding _marvelous_, Hermione? Was there _candlelight_? Beautiful _music?_ Romance?"

He was being hateful and it was the first time in all their years together that she had ever seen him this angry. It broke her heart; it reminded Hermione of all the pain she had suffered during the war. His words mocked the truth for there had been no romance in what she had shared with Draco. No, during the war, at the alienage, all those months in Kensington – there had been no love. Just two, desperate people clinging to hope in a black, hopeless world. It had been twisted, dark, passionate…needy…but never loving. Love had come later; love in such a hopeless existence would never be something Hermione could explain.

She blinked hot tears away.

"It wasn't like that either," she sobbed.

"I'll tell you how it was! It was rape!"

Over and over Hermione shook her head, defending Draco's actions without saying a word and infuriating Neville further.

"I know you want to paint it differently because of Leo, because he was born out of such an abhorrent union but it was nothing more than a pathetic _wanker_ taking advantage of a woman who had nothing else to offer. I hope he's rotting in Hell, Hermione. I really, really do."

She was sobbing quietly, broken and cold, helpless as to what she could do…what she could say to continue the painful conversation. She knew that the rest of the truth would be nearly impossible to share but…

_What's it matter now? He already hates me._

Neville was pacing furiously across the small space by his large desk.

"Why, Hermione? Why did you lie to me all these years? Why not just tell me the truth?"

She choked back another sob.

"Would you have married me?"

He stopped and turned to face her.

"You weren't fair to me; you never gave me the opportunity to choose, did you? Now, I guess we'll never know."

Tears continued to stream down her face as she weakly defended her actions. In any other moment, with any other person she would have been fiercer but gazing at Neville killed all the anger she might have felt. He loved her, cared for her, protected her after Draco had left. His love was pure; he was the man that she never should have been hurting and yet…

_Oh, Neville!_

"I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered achingly. "I didn't want to jeopardize Leo's future knowing who his father was…in this…in this world no one would accept…"

She put her head in her hands, her voice muffled.

"I don't want him to grow up in shame!"

But she felt guilt because she loved the man who would cause her son shame; she loved him with a passion she would never love another – not even her own husband.

Neville stood rigid, his face a hard line.

"I don't give a bloody damn who his despicable vermin of a father is! He raped you and abandoned you and this discussion is _over_. We won't speak of that filth again."

Hermione reached out with trembling fingers, willing her mouth to form the words.

"We have to talk about this! We have-"

Neville cut her off, moving towards the small credenza that stood nearest his desk where he kept the teapot. Hermione was froze by the love she felt for Draco and the devastation she felt at hurting Neville the way she was.

No matter where she turned, there were no real choices.

"Neville, please."

His hands shook as he stood facing away from her, head down.

"Stop, please. I can't take anything else right now, all right?"

She sniffed hard, swallowing back another plea as he heard thudded wildly within her. It would change everything if she knew, Hermione was certain. If Neville knew that Draco still lived and that she loved someone else-

"I was afraid you might be ashamed. I thought you might not love me the way you had…"

She faltered for the right words with which to express her agony, her face hardened and her eyes shining in the dimness of the lighting. His words were bitter when they came.

"You say you didn't want to hurt me and yet each night you lay in my bed, each night you held me in your arms and you hid this dirty, despicable secret! You should have told me!"

"Because you're taking it so well!" she cried back, both irritated and furious with his inability to see reason.

Neville turned then sighing with futility. The sound was heavy with resignation.

"I want to understand, Hermione. But you can't…really think that just like that, I'm going to be all right with this. I understand you did what you had to do. I understand…but it's still shameful."

Hermione flushed with embarrassment and the last remnants of her earlier fury. The intensity of emotions left her weak.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry for hurting you. For everything I've kept from you. I was afraid; how many times can I say it? I never wanted you to react like this."

Something flared in the depths of his eyes.

"How would you have me react?" he asked bitterly, though his tone had softened some. "Would you have me say it's all right? Would you have me embrace the idea that you lay with a Death Eater willingly doing whatever it was he wanted? Do you want me to believe that Malfoy is a good man? That you loved him? That he didn't abandon and abuse you?"

Fresh tears leaked from her widened eyes.

"He is and he didn't," she whispered weakly.

"None of them are any good! They're bloody Death Eaters! You have no idea how stupid you sound! They destroyed my parents' lives! They killed Ginny's parents! They murdered your fucking _husband_! They destroy and they take and they…"

He gave up, limply falling against the table, rattling the cups, saucers and the empty, ceramic tea kettle that was sitting there. Hermione didn't care any longer if he hated Draco or not; she didn't care about anything but how he was feeling about the truth.

"Neville, I don't want you to hate me."

The words were watery but determined and he let out a chortled sound, like a bitter laugh."

"I could never hate you," he whispered in defeat. "Merlin knows I want to though."

For a moment Neville stood stiffly and then Hermione watched him as he mixed a few tea leaves together to make into a brew, his fingers trembling at the task. When he spoke, his words were muted and possessed a harried quality.

"What are we going to do? I can't…if anyone finds out about this! If anyone finds out I've been helping those Death Eaters…and that my wife's child's father…"

Hermione could only describe his tone as full of horror. She knew that now was not the time to stop speaking and slowly she stood, going to her husband.

"Neville, I told you the things I told you for more than one reason. I'm worried. I'm worried about this Ministry and the job…and you. I'm worried about you."

Neville had put the water on for tea, adding in a few ingredients from his small stockpile of dry goods. Finally, he looked at her.

"Why?"

There was an unmistakable sour tone to his voice.

"Because people know my secrets, that's why."

Softly, Hermione recounted the meeting she had with Lavender offering details of their conversation she had not been able to share with Neville before.

"Something…something told me that…she's resentful and nasty. And Blaise…I don't think he thinks highly of either of us. I don't know why but the both of them resent me."

Neville had been listening though he remained silent.

"I need to be alone."

The demand was a gentle one but it still caused Hermione's heart to ache.

"Neville-"

"Please, Hermione. There's too much on my mind. I can't deal…I can't deal with all of this right now. Please, just…leave me be."

The magic tea kettle began to whistle merrily.

* * *

><p>Draco stared at Ginny skeptically finally having been able to tear himself away from his reflection in the cracked looking glass.<p>

"You mean I'll be able to come and go?"

Ginny sighed.

"If you are careful."

Draco considered her words thoughtfully, running his finger across the top of the glasses for a moment.

"When Bellatrix Lestrange ran the Ministry of Magic at Voldemort's right hand she had everything watched. The Floo Network, the Wizarding Wireless, Apparition points…"

He sighed.

"Zabini is the reason I'm on the run, Potter. I'm safe here and I hate to admit it but I'm bloody terrified of what might happen if I leave."

His words begged for a guarantee that Ginny could never offer. She only took a breath and continued haltingly.

"Zabini no longer works for the Ministry. If you feared his influence you don't have to anymore. Neville got rid of him only this morning."

Draco's stormy eyes widened.

"Bloody hell," he whispered and then for a few seconds there was only silence. The night had fallen and outside there was the soft song of the night creatures. "So that means I can just…go?"

He wondered at the possibilities, frozen with confusion and uncertainty. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Well, I won't let you run around London willy nilly if that's what you're thinking. You're going to come with me."

"Where?"

"Ireland. To see my husband."

Draco's eyes had narrowed.

"Why?"

"Hermione may not have told you but she convinced Neville to help those Death Eaters trying to escape Zabini's clutches. Dozens of them are waiting at the newly built shelters funded by the British and Irish Ministries."

"She mentioned that she'd been helping," he admitted thought his voice was weak. "I felt so guilty when she told me. I'm afraid she's doing it just to make sure I'm safe."

Ginny put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"Be glad someone loves you that much."

* * *

><p><em>Knockturn Alley, London, England<em>

There were still rumors that Fenrir Greyback's ghost haunted the Werewolf's Tabernacle. Some said he was in the basement, scaring away any unfortunate soul who would wander there. Others whispered that the public hanging ordered by Blaise Zabini had been a fraud and that both Bellatrix and Greyback had escaped to regroup and attack the newly formed Ministry anew.

Months had passed and the proprietor of the tavern had sold it and soon after it had fallen into disuse.

Still the strange, wooden sign hung outside of the rotting front door and the windows showed tables that had never been taken away. No lights shone within long abandoned establishment but it looked as if it might open if not for the dust that covered everything in a thick layer. What had once been one of the central hubs of activity lay silent and desolated. Now that the war had ended, British wizarding commerce had once again begun to flourish but Knockturn Alley and many of its regular inhabitants had become a nuisance, a mere stain on the face of the new wizarding society.

The sun had set in the village, swathing it in blue and purple shadows and nothing moved along the broken, cobbled streets of Knockturn Alley but a single soul which moved stealthily towards The Tabernacle, looking to and fro to make sure he was alone.

Yes, the rumors about Greyback would always run rampart.

Only Blaise knew the real truth about what had happened to the man turned wolf for it had been he who ordered the two sensationalized public executions. He had made sure that Bellatrix had died for her war crimes and at the same time stared her in the eyes moments before her death as if to say 'I have won.'

But Greyback…_he_ had been a different story altogether.

Bella had been loyal to Voldemort; her faith in him had never been shaken. Indeed, even at the moments of her overly cruel death she had never once begged for her life and in that way stolen some of what _would_ have been Blaise's complete satisfaction. She had died clutching fervently to whatever shreds of dignity she had left. That had been no surprise unlike what Blaise had learned about Fenrir Greyback…

Greyback, it turned out, was a man who had claimed no loyalties. He was purely an opportunist and a wily man at that, worming his way into whatever situation would benefit him the most. Blaise had known him during their days at the Ministry when he had first started and the man had been ruthless, without conscience and willing to do anything to ensure his own well-being. He had been a bloodthirsty, hedonistic creature.

Blaise pushed open the rotting wood near the brass door handle of the Tabernacle and the door flew open easily enough.

_He still is._

After all, who didn't need a man like Greyback on his side? Blaise was no fool. He had let Greyback live in exchange for as much loyalty as the werewolf was willing to offer.

They had struck an unholy union.

The room was musty and hot, smelling faintly of ale and old cigarettes. His boots stirred the thick dust but even in the coming night shadows Blaise could see that the floor had been tread on and recently too.

"Greyback!"

There was a shuffling from somewhere in the back where the kitchens had once been located. Blaise heard a thump and then a creaking sound.

"Commander Zabini."

The greeting was of caustic silk, dark and thick as if it was made of the very shadows that enveloped the room.

"How good that you've paid me a visit. We lowly Death Eaters so infrequently receive such a privilege nowadays."

Blaise stopped in the middle of the room turning to all four corners as Greyback refused to emerge from the darkness. He had always preferred shadows to the light.

"I haven't come to chat, Greyback."

The chuckle that ensued was raspy, like the sound of something unused and rusted. It held notes of disdain.

"Indeed is that not always the truth? What is it you need from me?"

The air around Blaise stirred and he caught a whiff of dust followed by something rotten and unwashed. The sky outside of the grimy had lost its purplish pink color and was now a thick navy. Night had come completely and Blaise felt a growing unease at his proximity to the werewolf.

"Are you scared Commander?"

The glee in Greyback's growled hiss was unmistakable and with a slightly trembling hand, Blaise reached for his wand so that he could find relief by its light.

"Lumos!"

Greyback laughed again as the blue-white light danced on the edge of Blaise's wand tip.

"Do you find strength in light, Commander?"

"Stop playing games!"

"Is life not one big game? Did you not love the chase? All those months trying to catch Bella and me?"

By the light of his wand Blaise could see Greyback's bloodshot eyes and the scarred, twisted face under a gray, scabby beard. His wild hair was matted with dirt and all manner of disgusting, unmentionable things and when he smiled Blaise saw rotted, gray, pointed teeth.

Fighting against tides of fear Blaise leaned forward menacingly.

"Don't think I won't execute you in a second if I see fit!"

The werewolf seemed to choke a bit on his laugh.

"If you had planned on it you would have already done so. After all, I am still mortal and can die just as easily as anyone else. You had captured me and yet you allowed me to live. It appears that I am still useful to you, Commander and because of that I don't believe that you will harm me."

Blaise's fingers tightened around his wand as his irritation grew.

"Perhaps I should have taken care of you at the same time as Bella."

"But you did not. Shall we dwell on the unfortunate past?"

"You work for _me_!"

Greyback sneered at this.

"Pshaw. I work for the almighty _Galleon_. Is that why you loathe me so? Because I am loyal to no one? Or is it the fact that I am not afraid of death, Commander? Does that make you furious?"

Blaise's face turned down in a scowl.

"You're a fool!" he said with condescension.

"I am many things but I am no fool. While all my former comrades have fallen because of their loyalty to Voldemort, I still live simply because I understand that true loyalty means sacrifice. And I refuse to sacrifice my life. It's those men, Commander, that are fools. Those who sacrificed for Voldemort and those who sacrificed for _you_."

Greyback fell silent for a moment and then cocked his head, watching Blaise with poorly veiled amusement.

"I think you hate me because I am the same as you except that I do not put on pretenses. I know I'm a soulless, hypocritical bastard and I embrace it. You should too. After all, you have sacrificed nothing and you still live simply because nothing is worth your loyalty."

Blaise saw red and he yanked Fenrir by his torn, dirty lapel.

"I'm bloody tired of your mind games!"

"Ah, but I find them endlessly titillating!"

Blaise felt Greyback tense and then go limp in his grip, backing away a bit.

"Have it your way. What is it you want, Commander?"

His words were dry and caustic and all amusement had faded from his leaden, glittery eyes. Blaise took a few calming breaths and then pushed himself away from the stinking man who so intensely gazed on him.

"The Minister for Magic is about to have an unfortunate accident."

"Ah, such a shame," replied Greyback.

"His wife will be alone and vulnerable."

Blaise smiled.

"I want you to check in on her."

* * *

><p>Hermione was frozen in place as she waited for Neville to say something – anything – so she would no how to proceed. The heaviness of the secrets her heart still harbored caused her breathing to grow labored.<p>

"Neville, there's more I have to tell you. I can explain why I'm so worried. It's not just Lavender and Blaise it's also how deeply I'm involved."

He turned while reaching for the used teacup that sat on his desk, the cup he used each day and that everyone knew was his. Time stopped for Hermione as she watched this seemingly innocent movement but after it started up once again it had taken on a strange, nightmarish quality.

His fingers wrapped around the white ceramic and at the same moment Hermione was aware of his body stiffening in one violent movement and a strange, keening sound that surrounded her.

She only realized a moment later that it was Neville's _scream _of pain. She watched as his fingers opened and the cup fell to the ground, shattering in a brilliant shower of white porcelain and he followed, tumbling towards the ground, unconscious.

Hermione dropped to her knees, cradling his impossibly lifeless body in her arms.

"Neville! Neville, please!"

Her voice was tight with shock and fear. He was moving, mumbling incoherently but unable to say anything of substance, to let her know he was all right. But Hermione didn't need to hear Neville say he wasn't all right; she knew it.

The tea cup.

The tea cup had been cursed.


	70. Chapter 70

_Yes, much delayed, I'm afraid. As we hurdle towards the end I think posting is as fast as I can do it at the moment. I apologize for the sudden decrease in updates but it can't be helped. Thanks for the alerts, faves and the reviews, as always. I hope you enjoy this update. Leo meets his father! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't sure how many hours had passed since the incident in Neville's office. She was unaware of the passing of time, the whispered voices, and the visitors that may or may not have come…<p>

She was only aware that she was sitting at her husband's bedside at St. Mungo's Hospital, holding his hand and willing him to wake up and be fine again because it was _all her fault._

The news had spread quickly throughout the Ministry shortly after Hermione had urgently called for assistance. Some had said Neville was dead and others had simply said that he had fallen gravely ill. No one had known the truth; someone had cursed the teacup he used on a daily basis.

_It's my fault! Oh, God, how can I be doing this to him! My fault and my involvement with the Death Eaters and Draco…_

Hermione's heart had been leaden with guilt and fear that Neville would not survive his time at the hospital but it had taken the Healers only a few hours to determine that whatever curse had been cast on the teacup, Neville would survive and awaken within a day or so. They had insisted that there was nothing more she could do and that she ought to go home and have a rest but Hermione was unable to pull herself away from Neville.

She would come early in the morning and leave long after all others had gone. Still it did nothing to assuage the heavy guilt she felt. And on top of that she had the uncanny feeling of being watched…everywhere she went. Perhaps that was simply paranoia from too much anxiety and not enough rest. But it couldn't be helped.

On the second morning of her vigil, Hermione was startled out of her dark reverie by the door behind her opening and the shuffling of shoes. When the sounds stopped and all was silent, Hermione lifted her head to find Minerva McGonagall watching her thoughtfully. She had aged much over the years and was not able to get around well without help now. Hermione had not seen her since right before the end of the war.

"Miss Granger, they told me you were being insufferable."

Hermione's eyes watered at the familiar way Minerva spoke; it reminded her of all those years at Hogwarts as a student. Those were such innocent…such sweet memories in the face of what had happened after.

Minerva's face held a patient smile and before she knew it, Hermione had wrapped her arms around the elderly lady and held her close.

"I am so glad to see you," she whispered. "Thank you for coming."

Minerva held Hermione for a few more seconds before gently pulling away.

"I am sure they told you Mr. Longbottom would be fine?"

Hermione wiped her watery eyes and nodded.

"I know the say that but I just…"

She looked helplessly towards her sleeping husband unable to truly express her guilt in words.

"You couldn't have known."

"Again, I know, but I feel like…"

She fell silent once again and finally sighed in resignation.

"I am tired," she admitted and Minerva smiled knowingly.

"I'll stay with him if it brings you some comfort."

Hermione reluctantly agreed and then leaned to press her lips against Neville's cool forehead sending up another silent prayer to a God she had long ago stopped believing in. Then, after thanking the elderly witch, she slipped out of the room and walked towards the back staircase so that she wouldn't be seen; the last thing she wanted was questions and concern from people she didn't know.

As she moved down the cement stairs towards the street, Hermione's mind whirled erratically. What would she do now? Would she tell Neville the rest of the truth when he awoke? Would she go warn Pansy and those that were with her? And what of Draco? She desperately wished that she could wrap her arms around him and forget the rest of the damned world. That's where she wanted to be the most even if it was a horrible and selfish thing. His love was all that she could truly take comfort in.

The piercing pain of her argument with Neville at the Ministry had not faded away; it had simply been masked by the fear that he would die from the curse. But now that he was on his way to recovery, her heart began to ache in reminder of the betrayal she had felt at his accusations.

Was she nothing but a Death Eater's whore? Hadn't Neville known that there was something between herself and Draco? Why would he condemn her now? Was he simply that hurt? Or that resentful?

_Can I truly blame him? _

Hermione stepped out onto the damp pavement and hurried away from St. Mungo's. Shuddering, she realized that she would never be able to sleep, no matter what she needed. Making a quick decision, Hermione closed her eyes and felt the familiar swirling and twisting as she quickly Apparated into London and rushed towards the Ministry Headquarters.

The sun had not quite risen above the sprawl of buildings and the air was still crisp and fresh. It was early enough that Muggles had not yet starting their working day and the cars that passed by on the roads were sporadic. The noises from the streets waxed and waned and during the quiet moments, Hermione could hear the thumping of her heart as she hurried up the walkway. During one of those quiet moments she heard the sudden whooshing of air behind her and it caused her to stop and turn. There was no one about.

_I'm going mental. That's all. I've been on edge and paranoid since Neville's accident. I've been up for over twenty-four hours straight and it's starting to make me a bit… _

Hermione caught her breath and then turned to continue on her way when she heard the voice. It nearly made her scream out loud in surprise.

"Be careful, Hermione."

She recognized the speaker a split second before she turned to find Lavender staring at her from the morning shadows that fell between two of the buildings that lined the walkway. It was hard to tell from the darkness that lingered there what sort of expression the blond woman was wearing but Hermione sensed there was nothing sinister lingering beneath Lavender's flat tone.

Still, she could not shake the cold that had washed over her heart as she gazed at Lavender. The other woman couldn't quite look her in the eye which proved to be unnerving and the silence was thick with tension. For a few moments Hermione searched for something to say – anything – because as the seconds passed the urge to scream grew stronger.

Finally she spoke, her words hoarse.

"What are you talking about, Lavender?"

"You need to be careful who you cross, Hermione. Everyone knows about your husband."

Now, her voice had dropped and taken on an odd, frantic quality. Hermione's heart froze.

"Was it you?" she hissed and stepped forward, towards the blonde woman. "Or wait - was it Blaise? Did he have something…?"

The horror washed over her, freezing time, her heart and ever one of her senses so that she felt like a husk of nothingness, burning all the way from her frantically beating heart to her very extremities.

Lavender only blinked and winced when Hermione reached to grip her by her blouse.

"Tell me!"

"Be careful. Blaise should never have lost his job."

Hermione saw red through the haze rage induced tears.

"You bitch!" she exclaimed. "You allowed you husband to do this? Are you as insane as he is?"

Though Lavender tried to get away from Hermione's grip she offered very little fight.

"I don't know what you mean. I didn't do anything wrong."

There was nothing in the depths of Lavender's blue eyes or her calm expression to indicate otherwise and Hermione, though incensed at having no proof of her suspicions, loosened her grip on the other woman's collar.

For another tense moment they stared at one another.

"I thought that after everything we've been through you might be the one person who…"

Hermione choked on her words, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

"The one person who what, Hermione?"

Lavender's words were not warm or scathing. Still they did not strengthen Hermione's will to push forward even though she did.

"You should be the one person who understands. We've been through the same thing; we're damaged because of it."

A vehicle rumbled behind them and passed. Lavender offered a laugh of disdain.

"Yes, I am damaged," she hissed. "But nothing you say or do will make me believe that you understand what I've been through!"

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"What do you mean?" she whispered. "I know what it's like to suffer! I know how awful those alienages were just as well as you do!"

Lavender remained stiff, her eyes narrowed in Hermione's direction.

"You don't know what it's like to sell yourself to the highest bidder! You don't know what it feels like to have to give up your very pride and virtue just to survive! You haven't had to lay with hundreds of men simply to make a galleon!"

Hermione hesitated but decided not to say anything and Lavender's voice began to quiver.

"You think just because you've lost people you love that it makes you different?"

She laughed as she said this though the sound held no joy.

"Well, let me tell you something. You're not different. I lost people too! So has every Muggle-born and half-blood that was lucky enough to survive the sodding war! You're not different and no one feels sorry for you!"

Hermione was taken aback by the tears that now filled Lavender's eyes.

"I lost my family! I lost my best friend! I lost everything I loved about my life and on top of that I lost things you never have!"

She swiped at her falling tears.

"I lost my self-confidence and my will to choose. They forced sex on me even when I didn't want it. They beat me and mocked me and treated me like rubbish for years! And I kept going back because I had to. They took away my trust, my will to live and the very virtue that I was holding on to because it was all I had left. You don't know how that feels so don't you _dare_ compare your cushy life to mine!"

"Cushy?" Hermione exclaimed in outrage.

Lavender seemed unfazed.

"While I was getting raped and beaten at the alienage, you were living in Kensington as Malfoy's very well taken care of whore."

"That wasn't our choice! And who are you to be calling me a whore?"

"And you're not? Pot meet kettle, as the old Muggle saying goes. The only thing that saved you from my fate is that Malfoy fell in love with you and rescued you from the clutches of those who tormented me for months! You were safe while I was desperately missing my daughter and the man I loved!"

Hermione felt tears spring up into her eyes. They were hot and blinded her vision causing her to blink furiously.

"You talk down to me as if your situation was different! You also fell in love with a Death Eater!"

Lavender's tears had frozen.

"Yes, I did. But look where I am now! He's left me and you're the wife of the Minister! Everything good in this life you've gotten while I've been shoved aside over and over again!"

Her voice had soured with anger and resentment and her chest heaved with difficult, ragged breaths.

"You don't know this but the night I met Blaise he was with Draco," she said. Her voice was strangely calm in comparison to the fire that churned in the depths of her eyes. "They were celebrating along Paddington Street. Blaise had gotten a promotion and they were with that horrid Flint."

Hermione shuddered at the sudden flurry of thoughts that washed over her. Fear and disgust, Flint's body lifeless on the snowy ground…Astoria…and of course, the brick walls of the building where he had nearly made her…

Nightmares – Marcus Flint had been the star of Hermione's nightmares for years.

She stopped thinking about it as Lavender continued, hanging her head so that Hermione couldn't see her face.

"I was working out of one of the pubs there, you know, along Paddington Street. Some of the more dodgy ones allowed us to do whatever we needed to."

Her words alluded to the seedy things Lavender would not actually voice.

"I remember feeling so sodding helpless! Like I was drowning in darkness and just barely breathing!"

Her words had grown thick and choked.

"I know it was horrid but I actually found hope in those same men that raped me over and over again."

Horrified, Hermione dared to look at Lavender who was watching her with a stricken expression.

"Death Eaters had the power; they were the ones who held our fates in their hands and as much as I hated them…I also knew they could help me if they wanted."

Hermione could hear the faint echo of Lavender's pained words in her own heart, knowing they were true. It was why she had turned to Draco; when there had been no other choice for her he had been her only hope.

"Draco wasn't as bad as the others," Hermione whispered.

It was the first words she had spoken without anger. Lavender choked on a sob.

"I know it. I begged Draco to help me; I offered him everything. I offered myself, just as you did."

Hermione stared, swallowing back heated words, shocked at the revelation.

"And he rejected me," Lavender whispered. "Did you know that other women had thrown themselves at him? Begged for help and he rebuffed them all?"

Hermione shook her head, mute.

"Until you," she continued. "Something about you…"

Her body went limp as she slumped against the cold, stone wall of the building they were standing by. The sun had risen over the buildings shining merrily in spite of the tension between the two women. Hermione felt stupefied.

"Other women?"

"They whispered at the alienage, you know."

"I know."

"About how much they hated you. About what a whore you were and how you must have been so good for Draco to keep you as his mistress for so long."

She had turned away now, her voice low and gravely.

"They laughed about how disgusting it was that Draco looked down about his colleagues for fucking Mudblood prostitutes like me but keeping a Mudblood mistress. It was the worst sort of hypocrisy."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn with shame. She was unable to look up but felt Lavender's gaze burning through her.

"What is it about you?"

The question lingered in the morning air between them, echoing against the sides of the two buildings that flanked the alleyway.

"Why were you good enough to garner his attentions when the others weren't?"

Hermione was speechless, unable to reply or defend herself. She knew that her love for Draco had never made sense and therefore whatever it was about her that had captured his attention was also nonsensical.

_Still, I can't let her make me feel like I did something wrong!_

The indignation welled up within Hermione and she stood swiftly, staring down at Lavender with growing displeasure.

"I did what I had to," she said in a low, gravely voice. "It meant my survival and I did it just as you did. What is in the past will stay there. You've moved on! You've married the love of your life, haven't you?"

Her voice was quickly marred with sourness.

"Even though he's cruel, thoughtless and ruthless."

"And Draco wasn't?"

"He would never have done the things Blaise has and is still doing now! He nearly murdered my husband!"

Hermione's rage was evident but Lavender did not flinch. It was an odd thing, the way she seem imperturbable by emotion. This time, however, she did not deny the accusation.

She stood, gripping Hermione's wrist tightly and leaned in so no one could hear.

"I might resent you for the life you've led and for every bad thing that's happened to me," she whispered against Hermione's ear. Her breath was reminiscent of tea and mint. "But I am not your enemy."

When Hermione managed to pull away, feeling at odds with her proximity to Lavender, she noticed the other woman's eyes had flooded once more with tears.

"I hate what happened to Neville. But Blaise always gets what he wants. If he knew I was talking to you…"

Lavender visibly shuddered.

"I'm not the one you should fear. I'm warning you. Be careful."

Hermione had noted the serious change in Lavender's words and the fear written in her tear-filled eyes. And when the grip on her arm loosed, she tried to hold on for just another second.

"Lavender, if you know what I'm supposed to do or who did this…"

Lavender shook her head.

"I can't. Just…you have to be careful."

"But-"

The air around her moved and just like that, Lavender was gone with a 'pop'.

* * *

><p><em>St. Mungo's<em>

Her heart beat shallowly within her as Luna gazed down at Neville, her tiny fingers wrapped around his weathered hand.

Neville had always been just a _friend._

Luna had counted on him, reminisced with him, vented to him, and been there for him when things at the Clinic had been tough…

_He's just a friend. I can't possibly…_

She sat on the hard-backed chair next to his bed watching his eyes fluttering open and felt her soul twisting with confusion.

_He is another woman's husband; he is Hermione's husband!_

Neville opened his eyes, and blinked.

"Hermione?"

_That's right; he wants Hermione._

Luna had always been the practical sort of girl and she had always known exactly what she wanted. The laughter, whispers and strange looks meant nothing to someone who had a clear vision of her goals and focused on those instead of what was going on around her.

She had known she would eventually be a Naturalist.

She had known Rolf would be her husband almost from the moment he had given her his shy smile.

And she had known that she wanted a family – she had wanted to be there for her own children just the way her mother had been there with her until the very end.

Neville Longbottom had never been a certainty in Luna's life. Until that moment – until that first moment she had heard he had nearly died in an accident at the Ministry. Her heart had stopped; her life had been shaken.

She had been _changed._

Could life change in a split second? Could hidden feelings be revealed so violently? Was a human being able to feel so painfully naked and foolish?

"Hermione."

Once more he struggled to say his wife's name, the three syllables thick and slurred on his dry lips. Luna quickly flicked her wand towards a pitcher of water and filled a glass before reaching in with a soft cloth to wipe the water against his mouth. His brown eyes flickered across her face as she gently ministered to him, trying to understand her silent, confused thoughts.

When she finally spoke, her words were a whisper in the empty, cool room.

"She was here all morning, Nev. They told her to go get rest."

For a moment Neville stared at Luna and then his eyes watered and spilled over, running down his pale cheeks and into the pillow that his head was resting against.

"Horrible things," he managed to choke out and Luna instinctually gripped his hand in hers, squeezing it.

"Shhh…"

"Horrible things, Luna. She told me horrible…did you know?"

Neville appeared to be confused but still tried to get the words out.

"Did you know the truth? All of it or did she lie to us all?"

Luna reached to wipe his tears with the cool, wet rag.

"Shh…you must be still," she cajoled softly. "We all assumed things but how can you ask someone to share something they can't?"

"She lied to me," he moaned. "She lied and I lay next to her every…night…"

Luna swallowed, hating to see the pain on Neville's face. There was something about his eyes, the way his mouth quivered that tore at her heart in ways she would never have believed.

In ways she had never known or considered, having written him off as nothing but a friend so many years ago. Not anymore; not now.

"Neville, we all knew she was hiding things."

"Not…like this. I knew she had…I knew that Malfoy had…but to…"

Luna sighed knowing that sometimes it wasn't worth knowing the truth especially if it caused unnecessary pain. Would this end their marriage? Unlikely. Would he love Hermione less? Impossible.

"Do others know? Has she told them? What if the Ministry finds out? What if…"

Luna soothed him softly.

"She hasn't said a word."

Tears slipped down his cheeks slowly.

"I love her," he moaned and it tore at Luna's rapidly beating heart.

"I know," she replied, biting her lip. "She knows that too."

"Draco…"

Luna reached to smooth his soft brown-gray hair.

"He's dead, Neville. Draco is dead. Whatever went on with them, no matter how little sense it made, died with him. You're free to love her and I know she loves you."

_And I'm here, dear friend, having realized the truth too late. _

* * *

><p><em>Ministry of Magic, London, England<em>

Hermione couldn't still her panicked heart. She couldn't get the image of Lavender's miserable and rage-filled face from her mind.

She wasn't aware of the passing of time and the call she placed to St. Mungo's about Neville's steady condition passed as if it had never happened. She ignored messages, stopped answering her office door. She sat within the large, book-lined room weeping in terrified silence.

Hermione knew that tears would do little to remedy the situation but as she paced back and forth across the room she couldn't stop the tears from falling.

She was terrified.

She couldn't recall being this terrified since her year at the alienage.

What would happen when Neville recovered? If Lavender had told the truth surely Blaise would try again. Would he punish Hermione through Neville or – God forbid – Leo?

Her heart stopped beating at the though that something might happen to her sweet little boy. Quickly she Flooed Ireland to reassure herself that Leo was still fine. A few moments later and after Seamus' certain if not cold reassurance that her son was fine, Hermione sank down onto the chair by her massive desk and put her face into her icy hands.

What if Blaise would not stop? What could she do?

_I have to protect my family; I have to warn Ginny. And I need to get Draco and the others out of England! _

Guilt raged within Hermione at her utter inability to choose her husband over Draco. She knew that no matter how she felt for Neville, Draco would be her priority – that and making sure that he was safe.

_I want you for as long as I can have you._

What if this was the end? What if her decision to move him out of London would mean she'd never see him again?

Fresh tears seeped from her eyes, wetting her trembling hands as her heart broke.

_It's the only way...it's the only way. I can't exist in a world where he does not. It's for the best; I'm married to someone else and I love him too._

Hermione stood and waited for the shaking to pass before sending a quick message to Ginny. She would need help and there was no one else who knew her secret.

Hermione was determined to keep it that way and to stop Blaise from hurting anyone else.

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere in London<em>

Draco made a striking form as he paced back and forth under the thick, emerald canopy of the trees that surrounded him. He was dressed in well-fitted black trousers and a crisp white shirt under a matching black coat. Ginny had managed to tailor the clothes to his body and with the glamour charms his disguise was complete. He was clean shaven and the glasses he wore seemed to accentuate the molten color of his gray eyes.

Ginny had to admit he was more than presentable – in fact, he was quite handsome. Draco no longer looked like a Death Eater on the run and more like a wealthy wizard come to London on Ministry business.

The pacing, however, made him look nervous and frightened. Both knew that if they were caught there would be more than hell to pay.

"Stop pacing!" she insisted with a hiss. "No one knows we're here but me."

"Hermione-"

"Hermione doesn't know you're here. She's coming to meet me. She..."

Ginny stopped speaking then and the silence was filled with the happy twittering of birds around them. But the joyous sound seemed out of place amidst the heaviness of Ginny's heart and Draco's incessant pacing.

Hermione had sounded _scared_.

It was all Ginny could recall from the harried conversation. That…and Hermione's insistence that they meet quickly to discuss something important. About Draco and Neville…and Blaise Zabini.

_Could she be in danger? Merlin knows she's been going behind Neville's back to help that..._

Ginny couldn't even think of Pansy without growing angry but when she turned to see the look of complete despair on Draco's pale face that anger faded.

_He's a person too. They all are. Hermione had the heart to forgive the Death Eaters for everything…_

If someone was in danger then they had no time to waste. There was nothing to do but help Draco, Pansy and the remainder of the Death Eaters to escape England. Hopefully without anyone noticing.

She turned to tell Draco to stop pacing once again when there was a pop and Seamus apparated, her children and Leo at his side, hands linked tightly.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly just as Draco stopped and turned, his mouth dropping for a moment.

"Hermione," Seamus said breathlessly, his voice holding a note of disdain and annoyance. "She sent me a barmy message about Leo and it left me a bit flummoxed, it did. Thought I'd come see ya and find out if everything's all right?"

His blue eyes flickered from Ginny's look of surprise and then towards a man dressed in black standing by the canopy of trees.

"Who's that?"

Ginny swallowed. This would be the test, though she hadn't been quite ready yet.

"Hermione mentioned that Neville had a meeting with a gentleman from the French Ministry. Apparently it was important and she told me to meet with him until she can get here. He's a Mr. Etamin Black."

Seamus' eyes flickered with interest.

"Really, now? Sure, he looks shook. Pale, yeah?"

Ginny shrugged.

"Maybe traveling doesn't sit well with him," she suggested casually hoping that she wouldn't have to go into anymore details of Draco's new persona or that Seamus wouldn't be much more observant.

Swallowing back trepidation, she led her husband, children and little Leo toward Draco, who looked like he had seen a ghost – Seamus was right – he was too pale. Ginny gave him a stern expression hoping that it would remind him to relax.

"Mr. Black, I'd like you to meet my family. This is my husband, Seamus Finnigan and my children, James, Albus and Lily."

The children smiled up at Draco and then Ginny patted Leo's soft, auburn curls. But an introduction would have been useless because Draco had stopped paying attention, his eyes wide with wonder as he stared down at his little boy.

Slowly, he knelt onto the soft grass and Leo gave him a curious expression.

"Mama tells me all da time it's rude to stare."

Draco laughed; it was the first honestly joyful sound Ginny had heard from him.

"Your Mama is a smart woman, then, and I apologize."

Leo grinned.

"I not mad."

Draco beamed.

"That's good," he managed to say though his voice was tight with emotion. Then he stuck out his hand and Ginny noticed his long, pale fingers trembling just slightly.

"My name is Etamin Black."

Leo gasped.

"Dat's my name! I'm Etamin too!"

He looked around at everyone with a smile.

"Dis man has my name!"

The little boy looked back at Draco curiously.

"But my middle name is Etamin. My real name is Leo. Mama says is after the Lion 'cause I'm strong."

For a long moment it appeared that Draco was fighting against a tide of emotion but in the end he only smiled tenderly.

"I'm sure you are."

Before Leo could reply there was a popping sound; Hermione had Apparated to meet Ginny and she stared, at first with surprise but then, quickly, with heart-stopping realization.

* * *

><p>Hermione felt light-headed.<p>

At first she had blamed the raging emotions within her – the fear and anxiousness…and the need to protect her family and Draco. With every beat of her aching heart she had pondered on how she could do both without being found out. But all that changed the moment she glimpsed the man in black, who knelt next to her son. At the glorious yet impossible sight, Hermione felt her knees go weak. She didn't feel herself stumbling; she felt nothing except-

_Sweet Fanny Adams! No, it's not possible, is it?  
><em>

But she knew that it was. That…or she was dreaming again like she had all those months after Draco had sent her to St. David's with Charlie and Angelina. Hermione blinked.

He was tall and lithe. The suit he wore fit him perfectly and he was the epitome of grace and gentility. He was smiling down at Leo and his gray eyes gleamed behind wire-rimmed glasses so much like Harry's.

_No, no. It's a dream. A beautiful, impossible, horrible, exhilarating dream._

He smiled and then spoke.

Hermione knew.

_Draco_.

It was Draco. Maybe someone else would have missed the inflection in his words or the flashing of those quicksilver eyes but not Hermione. She knew; she knew him just as surely as she knew the most intimate parts of her own heart. Somehow Draco was no longer hiding in the brick house but standing next to his son and talking with him.

_Somehow the dream of our son finally meeting his real father has come true. Oh, God, let this be real! Don't let this be a dream!_

Hermione took in a shaking breath as her eyes watered and then, another bout of light-headedness caused her knees to buckle. As she stumbled towards the grassy earth she was aware of Ginny, who quickly pulled out her wand and softened Hermione's fall and was soon clutching her arms and leading her away from the small group.

Hermione could barely speak, so great was her shock.

"Gin, I…that's…that's…"

"I know," she whispered.

"But…how-"

Ginny pressed her lips together.

"Charms," she replied. "I…I wanted to help, Hermione. I know you love him and he…"

The two women were silent at Ginny's hushed admission and then Hermione was crushing Ginny to herself in a heartfelt embrace, fighting tears so that they would not draw attention to themselves. She trembled.

"So it's really him?" she wept joyfully. "He's with Leo! Oh, God! I hadn't dared dream that Draco would-"

Ginny shook her head.

"Don't say it. No one knows and I'd rather it stay that way. We can't let anyone know. Not Seamus and not the children."

Hermione took a few calming breaths, squeezing Ginny's hands tightly enough to make the redhead wince.

"You're right," she whispered over and over again. "No one else can know."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I spoke with Lavender this morning."

Her voice was thick with tension.

"I think Blaise is behind…Neville being cursed and I don't know what's going to happen if he finds out that Neville survived…"

Ginny reached over and put her arms around Hermione trying to tell her it would be all right even though she no longer knew if it would be.

* * *

><p>The werewolf's eyes gleamed and Blaise shuddered inwardly, trying to push his chair away from the stained, wooden table.<p>

"You and I are quite alike, Commander."

Blaise sneered.

"I am nothing like you," he hissed, tasting bile and the remnants of his breakfast.

"We lie, manipulate, torture and maim. I'd say that you are just like I am. Remember those years we used to hunt for prey together? Isn't that when you met your whore?"

Greyback's sharp teeth gleamed in the dim lighting of the dodgy pub and once more Blaise felt so sick he thought he would retch.

"Don't you dare bring up those times! Don't you see, you fool? I only did what I thought I was supposed to! Now…now it's different!"

He smacked his hands on the worn wood of the rickety table. Greyback only laughed and downed the remainder of his wretched-smelling ale.

"Is it? And yet…here you are. Asking me to murder the Minister?"

"No, that's not what I asked you. I asked you to go and fetch him and bring him to me."

Greyback stood and offered a macabre leer.

"Is that not the same thing, Commander? You aren't one with much patience especially if things don't go the way you want them to, hmm?"

Blaise stood up so that he would not be undermined by the half-insane wolf.

"Bring him to me!"

Greyback laughed.

"Commander, when you finally take your rightful place as the seat of the British Ministry, remember your lowly servant, Fenrir," he said in a voice that dripped with disdain. Then his dark eyes flashed.

Blaise fought hard not to cower in fear.

"I am the one who is doing your dirty work," finished the wolf. "And I will want to be repaid."

With one last, awful smile, Fenrir Greyback slipped out of the pub, leaving Blaise alone and unnerved.

_I can do this. I must do this! I am the rightful Minister, not that half-brained prat, Longbottom! I worked for it; I want it!_

Just like every time he felt fear stirring his heart, Blaise steeled himself against it, looking towards the future, towards his goal.

He would be Minister for Magic. He would destroy Longbottom and his nosy, trollop of a wife and their bastard son. For a moment he thought of Malfoy and coldness seeped into him.

_Sod's better off dead. Too bad his son's not with him. I should have taken him out the first chance I got! I should have left that bitch to die at the alienage. I should have done a lot of things I didn't but it's going to all change, I swear. I will be Minister. I will destroy the remaining Death Eaters and then I will rule Wizarding Britain the way I think it should have been ruled under Voldemort! _

If Blaise had ever felt sympathy, it was gone now. He had no time to feel; it was time to act.

_I will be unstoppable. _

He smiled.


	71. Chapter 71

_As I always do, I want to thank everyone again. All your reviews, alerts, messages and favorites mean a lot to me. I feel like this story could be finished in one massively long chapter but I can't do that! So I apologize for splitting it into sections – this one ends on a cliffie. Enjoy! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE<p>

* * *

><p><em>It has to be a dream.<em>

Hermione heard Leo's joyful laughter. She saw Draco smiling down at their son. And with each glorious, passing second she was fully realizing that she was awake and that this was really happening – Draco was finally meeting his own son after so long!

The wind ruffled Leo's hair as he discussed with the greatest of seriousness something Hermione couldn't hear. The image of father and son together at last warmed her heart and made it impossible to think of anything else. She wasn't even fully aware of Ginny squeezing her hand until the other woman spoke.

"You ought to go visit with them."

Her voice was soft and Hermione only half understood the meaning behind the words.

_You ought to go visit with them._

What did she mean?

_You don't have much time with them._

Her heart thumped heavily within her.

_Your family is in danger._

She swallowed, blinking hot, furious tears away.

_You ought to go visit with them._

Yes, yes…Hermione forced her legs to support her as she got to her feet shakily. Ginny nudged her.

"His name is Etamin Black and he's a business partner of Neville's. Don't be long, Hermione. I know…I know this won't be…but if we need to get Pansy and the others out of England we need to do it soon. And then we need to get Neville home so we can tell him what's happened."

Hermione, who had been staring out at her family, turned to gaze at Ginny. Her cheeks flushed crimson.

"I…after everything that's happened you think Neville's strong enough-?"

Ginny cut into Hermione's faltering words.

"What choice do we have? We can't keep him in the dark. Haven't you kept him in the dark long enough? People want to hurt him; people want to destroy your family – the very thing that's most important. We don't have time to waste."

Hermione and Ginny stared at one another and finally the brunette sighed with resignation.

"You're right. I want to protect them both…my family and Draco."

How she wished that both meant the same thing! She pulled Ginny into a torrid hug.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered against the other woman's ear. "For everything."

When they pulled apart, Ginny was smiling tremulously.

"You're welcome."

She turned and both women watched the scene before them. The older children had run off to play and Seamus stood alongside Draco and Leo, mindless of the emotional reunion of father and son. In fact, no one knew the truth except Ginny, Hermione and Draco.

"Now, go be with your family. There's not much time. Luna has come to London to be with Neville and it won't be long before she starts asking questions. The less people know the better."

Hermione took a steely breath and nodded.

"You're right," she agreed, knowing Luna's fierce protectiveness over Neville.

Hermione didn't even want to think of what Luna might feel if she knew the whole truth! She offered Ginny an uncertain smile.

"I won't be long," she promised painfully.

"Bring him to the cottage. It's closest to where the rest are staying."

Ginny's eyes flickered toward Draco once more and Hermione pressed her lips together.

"I will."

A silence pregnant with expectation fell over them before Ginny spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I know…this might mean you'll have to give him up."

Hermione did not move and finally Ginny gave up trying to offer her comfort.

"Just enjoy the time you have."

Without another word, Hermione hurried towards her family.

Leo met her halfway when he noticed Hermione hurrying towards him.

"Mama! Mama!"

He pointed towards Draco, who had stood and stretched.

"Dat man has my name!"

The little boy seemed entranced with such a thing and he pulled her arm enthusiastically, thus bringing his parents to stand together. Hermione could barely look Draco in the eye so overwhelmed she was over the joining of their family at last.

Draco, too, looked as if he would weep.

"What's wrong?"

The innocent question seemed to bring focus on the reality. They were together; this was real. Hermione and Draco's eyes met but she looked away, afraid she would weep with joy. She didn't want to startle Leo who already knew something wasn't quite right.

"Mama, what?"

Hermione reached to take her son's hand but she couldn't find the words to express her heart. Draco knelt before his son but she could see him sniffing back tears.

"Here," said Leo, rummaging in one of the pockets of his trousers before pulling out a wrinkled handkerchief. "You use this if you got da sniffles."

Draco took it and pressed it to his chest.

"Thank you, Leo."

"You welcome."

The little boy was blissfully unaware of his parents' emotional turmoil and only reached to pull on his mother's blouse.

"I'm hungry. Say-mouse said there was food, Mama!"

Hermione giggled.

"It's Seamus, my darling. Not Say-mouse."

Leo blinked and then made a face.

"Is what I said," he pointed out with a world-weary sigh. "Say-mouse."

She burst into laughter and the next moment found Draco and Hermione on the grass laughing until tears glimmered in their eyes while their son looked on in confusion.

"What's funny, Mama?" he demanded, hating that he didn't understand the way grown-ups thought. Hermione reached to pull him into a hug from which he struggled determinedly.

"Mama!"

"It's nothing, Leo."

She motioned towards the basket Seamus had left on a small picnic table nearby. The others had wandered off at Ginny's insistence so the little family could be alone.

"I thought you were hungry?"

Leo let out a yell of excitement, forgetting his previous irritation with his mother.

"Come, Etamin! There's food!" he encouraged.

Hermione found her heart melting at the ease with which Leo had accepted Draco and watched joyfully as little boy pulled enamored father towards the table.

"There's bread and cheese!" he exclaimed. "And apples! Dey's my favorite!"

He picked out a particularly delicious looking fruit and offered it to Draco.

"I like apples buttah than any other fruit, even buttah than the grapes and razenberries Mama likes," he said in a confidential tone which made Draco smirk.

"That's amazing."

"What?" Leo inquired.

"Apples are my favorite, too!"

"Dat's 'cause we have da same name!"

Draco began to laugh and Leo joined in. Hermione wasn't sure if she had ever felt such unadulterated joy in the entirety of her life. As Leo ate, he kept up a steady stream of chatter and Hermione was fascinated with the expression of complete adoration on Draco's face.

There was no doubt about it; Draco was already in love with Leo. Not that there had ever been any doubt. It made it that much more difficult to know that she would have to separate them and so soon, too.

"Where are you from?" Leo was asking Draco then.

"I'm from a little village in France."

"Is that far?"

"Quite far indeed."

"What do you do? Are you Mister?"

Draco's silvery brows furrowed as he tried to outthink his son.

"Mister?"

Leo sighed with deep resignation as if he were trying to explain something impossible to someone who could not understand.

"Mister of Magic," he elaborated. "You Mister of Magic in France? My Daddy is Mister of Magic here!"

Only Hermione was obviously aware that Draco's face flinched in pain at the pride that Leo obviously had for Neville.

"No," Draco replied, good at hiding his pain. "I work for a wizarding bank."

"Ohhh! Like Gin-gots?"

"Yes, nearly exactly like Gringotts."

"Do you have lots of money? I do."

Hermione's mouth dropped open even though it was clear that Draco did not mind and was shaking his head in amusement.

"Leo!" she chastised. "You can't say such things! And you must not ask such questions!"

Leo looked at his mother and replied in a matter of fact way that only a child could possess.

"Mama, how am I gonna know things if I don't axe?"

Draco and Hermione's eyes met and time stopped for a moment. She saw joy shining in the gray depths of his eyes and relented, falling silent once more. It wasn't like she was truly angry with her son anyhow; she much rather enjoyed his banter.

Draco was gazing down at Leo.

"You know…money doesn't always make you rich."

"Really?"

"Really," replied Draco. "I grew up with money and my Mama wasn't warm or loving. I know she loved me but…you have to remember, Leo, that you were very rich even without money because you have the best Mama in the world."

Leo curled up to Hermione, clearly happy with Draco's words.

"I like Mama eben though she's a girl."

Draco smiled tolerantly, leaning against the trunk of a large tree.

"Not fond of girls, are you?"

Leo made a face.

"Girls are gross."

"I think someday you'll change your mind."

"Girls cry all the time! And dey tell me what to do like they're all my Mama!"

Leo managed to look righteously angry and Draco stifled a grin as Leo turned to look at Hermione.

"But you're a good Mama," he finished happily as he leaned into Hermione's embrace.

For a moment there was nothing but silence and the completeness of what Draco and Hermione both felt. They were a family. Perhaps it wasn't ideal but right then it was all Draco could have hoped for. His eyes watered as he smiled at Leo again, reaching for the handkerchief the little boy had offered him earlier. Leo watched him for a few seconds and then broke the silence.

"Do you do magics? I can fly a broom and Mama says I'm gonna be a great whiz!"

Hermione laughed and Draco's eyes danced with merriment.

"I'm sure you will be a great wizard," he agreed. "And yes, I can do magic."

Leo grinned.

"Where's your wand?"

Draco thought quickly, his face falling just a fraction.

"I don't always take it with me when I'm traveling on business."

Leo looked perturbed.

"Mama says a good whiz always has to have his wand. I can't wait! Dere's a place called Olive-unders that's gonna make mine when I get big! I only wish it was now."

"You'll grow older before you know it," Draco replied patiently.

"What's yours made of? Mama has one made with vines."

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"Ah, well those make excellent wands, you know. Mine is made of Hawthorn."

"What's dat?"

"It's a flowering tree that comes from the rose family."

"Roses are for girls! You have a girly wand!"

Draco smiled tolerantly.

"It might just be that," he teased. "But it's still quite powerful and has done great magic."

Leo sighed.

"I want a wand."

"The best things come to those with patience, Leo."

The little boy considered this and shrugged before scrambling to his feet.

"Come, Etamin. Come see me fly!"

He reached to put his tiny hand into Draco's large and calloused one. It brought tears to Hermione's eyes and for a split second she forgot all her troubles and basked in the joy of having her family around her.

"We can fly while I wait to get big and get my wand!"

Draco laughed at the simplicity with which his son saw life. He only wished that life would always stay that simple even though it was futile to hope so.

"I'll come if it's all right with your mother?"

Leo grinned up at Hermione.

"Can we, Mama?"

Hermione nodded.

"Give me and Mr. Black just a moment, darling. I have to talk to him about Ministry business and then he's all yours."

Leo made a face.

"Boooring!"

He grinned at Draco.

"You meet me there!" he said and dashed towards the hillside where the other children were, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

The silence was shattering and neither knew what to say.

* * *

><p>Luna carefully folded Neville's extra blankets and moved them to the foot of his hospital bed. He had said nothing more since he had awoken and she could read the bitterness and heartbreak that was painted across the planes of his face.<p>

She had taken a long while to rearrange his room even though Neville was being released that evening. She had swept the floor and brought in several potted plants and flowers to decorate the parapet of his hospital window. In spite of her efforts the room was still blanketed heavily with sadness.

Neville had recovered rather quickly after awakening from his stupor and within an hour was sitting up in bed and taking liquids. Luna had offered him dinner, which he refused and after failed attempts at engaging him in conversation, Luna had fallen into her current state of silence.

It was only after she had taken her own dinner that Neville finally spoke.

"What exactly happened to Malfoy?"

Startled, Luna had dropped the Quibbler which she had been reading. She looked up at him quizzically. He wore a forlorn expression.

"W-what do you mean?"

"How did he die? Did he die in the war? Or did he die after Hermione left London the first time?"

His fingers fisted the coverlet that lay over his legs.

"I hate feeling this way but I don't trust her."

Luna set aside the magazine and scooted her chair closer watching him with solemn eyes.

"She never meant to hurt you this way," she whispered. "But no one would blame you for your feelings."

Neville let out a strained, frustrated snort and looked away. Luna lay her hand atop his trembling one.

"I don't know what happened to him; Hermione never…she never knew."

Neville's voice was bitter when he replied.

"That or she never told you the truth either."

He would not look at her, no matter how hard Luna wished he would. Instead he focused on the view outside of his window, the way the hazy sunlight played on the emerald leaves of the trees just beyond the windowsill.

"You can't…oh, Neville! You can't be this way. Not when there are so many in the world that you can't trust! Hermione is your wife!"

His jaw stiffened.

"She lied to me. How is she better than…?"

"She's your wife," Luna reminded softly.

Neville worried his lower lip, nearly biting into it to draw blood.

"My _wife_ and a Death Eater's _willing_ whore."

Luna gasped at Neville's bitter words.

"You can't say such things!" she exclaimed.

"How can I trust her when she's kept this much from me?"

The silence was heavy and Luna sensed finality it that she feared not even her reassurances would assuage. Her mind moved with lighting speed touching upon as many of her limited options as possible.

Finally, she spoke.

"If you want, I can talk to her for you."

Neville finally looked away from the window to glare at Luna.

"And what would you ask her?"

The silence was interrupted by the distant sound of voices in the hallway. This was nothing out of the ordinary for reporters and higher Ministry officials had been coming nearly constantly since Neville's arrival at St. Mungo's. Luna ignored the racket.

"What do you want me to ask?"

She could see his entire body stiffen with hostility.

"Look, you don't have to do anything, Luna. I'll be just fine."

"Neville-"

There was more commotion from the hallway and then the commanding voice of a nurse or some sort of Healer. Then the voice grew more muted.

Luna took a faltering breath and squeezed his fingers tightly.

"I'll talk to her," she decided.

Her declaration was met with silence and Luna's heart plummeted at this. The muted sound of voice beyond the room continued. Finally, she stood.

"I'll go now."

"She won't tell you anything."

Luna reached down to smooth a wayward lock of brown hair from his clammy forehead.

"I'll try anyway. I want to believe she's told you everything you need to know but just in case she can't…just in case it's something she can only tell someone else-"

Neville's eyes flared with anger and resentment.

"That's just the rub, isn't it though? I'm her bloody husband and she can't talk to me?"

Luna wordlessly tried to shush him, reaching out in hopes that he would try and be calm but Neville flung off her hands in disgust.

"Just don't. Just…just go, Luna. Just go."

"Neville-"

Once again he pushed her away but this time Luna was able to glimpse the pain that flared in his eyes.

"I told you, don't."

Luna stopped at the harshness in his words and dropped her hand as he continued.

"For years you've had this incessant need to shove your sodding friendship on me. For years I was in love with you and you did everything but love me back! I don't want your friendship; I don't want you here! Just go…go."

He clenched his lips together.

"Leave me be miserable, please. I don't want you."

Luna felt hot tears flood her vision and she blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered raggedly. "It's not that I didn't love you it's just…"

Neville was pink-faced and her words had driven him to greater irritation.

"It's just what, Luna? I haven't been good enough all our lives, have I? So why now?"

She grew indignant.

"When has it been a crime to be a friend?"

Neville waved her off with vehemence.

"Since I decided I was over you and whatever it is that's been between us. Merlin's balls! It only took me half my life, didn't it?"

He pointed towards the door.

"That's where I want you to go. My life since the war isn't your business, Luna. I've moved on and, to be frank, my marital issues will be private from now on. Please don't butt in."

Luna exhaled a rattled sigh, holding back the sobs that threatened to escape. She couldn't believe that Neville could cause her such pain; he had never done so in all their years as friends.

But the iciness and indifference in his voice told the story that his words would not.

_Our friendship is over, isn't it?_

She reached for the door handle with trembling fingers opening it to the outside world – a hospital corridor filled with wizards and witches, both personal friends and acquaintances of the Longbottom family and those who were just looking for a news story for the Prophet or a wizarding magazine. Luna heard their questions but wordlessly pushed her way through the unyielding throng wishing she could hex them out of her way.

Apparition away from the hospital and to her hotel room seemed the greatest of blessings and only when she found herself standing upon the plush carpeting of the bedroom did she allow herself tears. That way, no one would see her cry over what she had lost.

And when the tears ceased, Luna determined to fix things between Neville and Hermione, no matter what he happened to want. It was the least thing she could do for him, wasn't it? If they weren't to be friends at least she would know he was happy.

With that thought in mind, Luna Apparated once again, this time in search of Hermione.

* * *

><p>The breeze picked up gently as Leo bounded away from his parents and towards the sunny clearing where he had left Albus' broom.<p>

Hermione and Draco looked after him with tense yet awed silence.

"Oh, God, Hermione…"

His words were roughened with emotion and when Hermione turned to look at Draco she could see his gray eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. Instinctually she covered his large hand with her own smaller one.

"I know," she whispered.

"I love him!" he replied. "Oh, God, how I adore him! Hermione, he's bloody perfect, isn't he? So, so perfect!"

Hermione watched as the dam that had been holding his emotions back finally burst.

"He's just like you, so beautiful and smart! And he's…he's got the Malfoy pride and determination. He's going to be amazing! Oh, God…"

He was shaking and Hermione could do nothing but wrap her arms around him, resting her head upon his shoulder and pulling as close as she dared.

She felt both amazingly alive and deeply anxious. She knew that if someone – anyone – recognized her and found her in the arms of another man-

_Oh, Merlin!_

But in spite of that and perhaps because of the fear it caused, Hermione could not let him go. World be damned, he was her love, the only reason she had existed for so long and she _couldn't _let him go!

"Draco," she whispered against the roughness of his crisp linen shirt and the softness of his beard. "You must listen. I have to tell you something..."

But Draco either couldn't wrap his mind around anything but Leo or he simply had chosen to ignore her. As she whispered his name once more he was staring out at Leo's wobbly attempts at flying.

"Perfect," he murmured and when he gazed down into Hermione's eyes she could see only endless joy.

"I had wondered what a child of ours would look like, Hermione," he sighed and one roughened finger traced the outline of her face, making Hermione shiver delightfully. For a few moments she forgot the fact that Draco would need to run soon, that their family would be broken up once again as quickly as it had come together.

"I had dreamed, imagined, created…I had _prayed_."

For a moment there was only Draco and the perfection she found in his arms.

"I never knew I could love someone so much again!" he rasped. "When…when I lost Scorpius I…that part of me died and I didn't believe…"

He sighed, tears shimmering in his eyes now.

"But the moment I saw Leo that…it all changed. I thought I couldn't love you more but now there's my son - _our _son."

Yes. Yes, of course she understood! Of course she knew the feeling of both overwhelming awe and love – yes she knew!

Hermione's felt the unsteady racing of her heart as she pressed herself closer to Draco's warmth and felt him melting against her easily.

"So many months," she murmured against his jacket. "So many months of darkness, Draco, when I wondered how I could raise him alone and how he would never know his father."

She looked up at him.

"You don't know the agony I felt when we met again," she continued brokenly. "The shame and guilt at feeling what I did and wishing Neville weren't in the picture so you could claim your son."

She felt her eyes watering.

"I'm a horrid mother, I know. I'm horrid for wanting what I shouldn't and for doing what I oughtn't but in the end he's still your flesh and blood."

Draco pressed his lips to Hermione's unruly curls.

"I love him, Hermione. So there is that and where there is love all cannot be wrong, can it?"

Hermione didn't know the answer to that but she did know that precious seconds were slipping by and she would have to force Draco to listen – soon. He had pulled away and was gently tugging on her arm.

"I want to fly with him for a few moments. I want to be a father to him even if I can't use that word. I want these moments and I won't waste another minute!"

"Draco!"

Hermione got to her feet but he had already begun to jog across the emerald grass towards their son and she could do nothing but follow. Leo was laughing and waving to Draco from his precarious position on the wobbly broomstick.

"Please," she managed breathlessly when she caught up to him.

Draco clasped his hand over her fingers and held them tightly.

"Hush," he ordered and there was nothing to do but comply.

They watched Leo trying to master the art of flying as he had been taught by James and Albus. He worked with obvious excitement and careful determination and there had been nothing as beautiful to Hermione as watching her son learning something while standing by the side of the man she loved.

_The man I love._

This love she couldn't deny; this love meant more to her than the world and because the world hated him she would give him up to protect him.

"Now will you listen?"

Her plea was thin and trembling. Draco turned to gaze down upon Hermione, his gray eyes somber – the joy had gone from him in that moment.

"I know."

She stared.

"I know that I must go and that Ginny and Seamus have found a place for me. She told me that it would happen soon."

Hermione stared, dumbfounded and Draco leaned in to press his mouth against hers in a soft kiss – the first kiss that had not been in secret.

"I only wanted a few moments with you and Leo; I wanted to remember what it felt like to have a family again. I know you are Longbottom's wife and no matter how I try I can't forget that you aren't mine any longer."

Hermione swallowed back her bitterness and disappointment.

"Draco, that's what I must tell you. There's danger and we can't be seen here together. I've become some sort of target and anyone who is involved with me…"

She choked on her words, not seeing Draco's growing concern.

"Neville's been-"

The moments that followed her faltering words slowed down – it was as if some spell had been cast on the entire world. Hermione would never know if she had been so distracted by Draco that she had forgotten where they were or if they had been snuck up upon – at any rate they jumped apart at the sudden sound of a new arrival.

"It's too late."

Her voice wasn't cold or menacing; it was simply sad.

Hermione gasped, whirling away from Draco as her eyes widened.

"Luna!"

The woman with the wispy blonde hair appeared calm on the outside but her pale gray eyes were wide with horror.

"Hermione, this whole time with another man?" she whispered in disbelief. "While Neville's in the hospital dealing with…with whatever truths you've told him you're here…with…"

Luna's eyes moved to Draco who was watching her intently. Suddenly the glamour and disillusionment charms Ginny had used seemed quite a thin, frail cover. Hermione wondered if Luna could see right through the enchantments.

It made her stomach twist so that she felt her lunch threatening her.

No, no, no, no, no…no…she didn't want to be found out this way! Her heart hammered within her chest wildly.

"Luna, it's not…it's not what you think. I can…I can explain…I-"

Luna pulled out her wand in one, swift movement that silenced Hermione. She approached Draco carefully, wand outstretched and eyes narrowed.

"I thought I heard you call him _Draco_. But that can't be, can it?"

She lifted her wand and then the air around them shimmered, grew hazy, sharpened and wavered so that Hermione grew dizzy. Against her own will she felt her eyes fluttering closed to keep the dizziness at bay. For a moment there was nothing but then she felt a coolness fall over her; it felt like bathing in a waterfall. She was struck by a faint memory of being in the vaults at Gringott's-

No! Thief's Downfall!

Her eyes jerked open and she had just enough time to gasp for air before she realized that Draco now stood before them, all magic, charms and concealments having been washed away by Luna's spell.

"You _are_ alive," she breathed.

Hermione saw Draco jerk in response to Luna's work and she reacted similarly.

"How…how did you…?"

"It's not what you think," replied the blonde witch. "Technically it's a modification of Thief's Downfall but…well, it serves its purpose."

Then she took a step towards Draco who had frozen with indecision and peered up at him. What could be done now? Hermione knew she had been caught; the last part of the secret she had harbored in her heart had been blown apart.

"I can't believe this," Luna murmured.

Her wand trembled a bit as she lowered it and looked accusingly at Hermione.

"All this time?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No, no…you don't…you don't understand! I thought he was…I thought he had died too! When I came to Cardiff! I didn't have any reason to believe…"

She faltered in her words.

"But then he was back and I just…I didn't know how to tell Neville-"

Luna's wand swung around to point in Hermione's direction.

"How long?"

Hermione couldn't answer and Luna's jaw trembled.

"How long, Hermione? Your husband is in the hospital, broken about what's happened between you. And you're still keeping secrets from him! How long?" she demanded.

Hermione dropped her head in defeat.

"Please just let me explain," she begged.

* * *

><p>Neville wasn't certain how long it had been since Luna had left the room. No one had come in since and the voices in the hallway had died off as well, leaving behind a stark, lonely silence.<p>

Try as he might, however, Neville wasn't able to silence his thoughts and they raged within him like a violent storm.

_A Death Eater's whore._

He hated thinking of Hermione in such light after so many years of adoration.

_Didn't I know the truth though? She never kept that from me; I knew that Malfoy had been...with her._

Sighing, Neville opened his weary eyes.

_But not like that. Not willingly. I hadn't thought she would actually…as a desperate choice, yes. If he had forced her, yes. But surely Hermione couldn't have_ loved_ him!  
><em>

He turned his head towards the windows. Except that she _had._

_It explains everything, doesn't it? Her need to help Parkinson…the reason she had turned to him because she had been abused at every other turn and he was the only one that had offered solace?_

Still, it didn't quell the jealousy and indignation Neville felt.

_It's bad enough that Leo will have this stain to deal with forever! What if the Ministry finds out about Hermione's past? They'll crucify her!_

He shuddered a bit and pulled the comforter higher up on his body thought it did nothing to warm him.

_What if they already do? What if that's why I'm in this bed? Who did this to me? Zabini? His wife? Someone else? _

Hermione hadn't known; she had been worried but she hadn't known. He knew his position was in jeopardy and he believed the same for his marriage. Unless…

Suddenly the door opened.

"Minister?"

Neville didn't recognize her but she wasn't the usual Healer that made rounds on his particular floor.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat and looking away.

_My life is a sodding mess and I don't even know what to do to begin to fix it!_

"I've come to bring you supper."

"I'm not hungry, actually."

Neville heard the sound of her soft-soled shoes against the floor and looked up. She had hair like Luna's; it looked like corn silk and framed a face that was much too ruddy and large, too-bright eyes.

Her eyes gazed into his for a silent moment and Neville was suddenly reminded of… They were blue eyes, hungry and attentive – a wolf's eyes. Yes, that was it. She had eyes that were animalistic.

Neville took a breath.

Then everything and nothing changed all at once. She reached for him, her fingers clamping down hard on his forearm and she was smiling but the smile never reached those cold, animal-like eyes. And her smile was no longer the smile of a woman.

She had changed.

"Well, then, Minister, I suppose you'll have to come with me," she growled.

Neville struggled against her sudden strength while at the same time he was riveted in horror as she changed before his eyes. Gone was the wispy, blonde hair and the ruddy cheeks. Gone was the shapely figure and soft-soled shoes.

She was gone.

And in her place stood a wolf-like man that Neville had hoped never to see again for memories of the first battle at Hogwarts had always been enough for his nightmares. A few seconds was all the man needed.

"Stupefy!"

The last thing that Neville would recall was the hungry look and rabid smile of Fenrir Greyback.


	72. Chapter 72

_A little over one year ago I posted this story on this website. I was afraid no one would enjoy it. Here I am, 1400 reviews later. And I owe it to you guys! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm so glad I've been able to entertain you! I love this journey and here's the update! _

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO<p>

* * *

><p><em>Ireland<em>

"That's barmy, it is!"

Ginny reached to try and calm her husband.

"No, you don't understand-"

She began to speak to him knowing that ultimately her words would fall on deaf ears for when Seamus got his Irish up he had no patience for anyone – not even her.

"Actually, I think _you've_ gone completely barmy, you have!"

She shook her head.

"Hermione's the closest thing I have to a sister."

"Death Eaters!"

"She can't help what's happened and I-"

"Those heartless bastards invading our home, lives and my very livelihood!"

His blue eyes widened in shock and Ginny reached forward once again.

"It's only to help them get out of England, I swear. Hermione promised that it was all she would ask for! There's only a few of them and Neville's been helping-"

Seamus' freckles had disappeared under the flush of his cheeks.

"Sure, I don't bloody care what he's been doing! He's just as bad as you, Hermione and the rest of that insane lot!"

He flung out his hands.

"England's not my sodding home, all right? _This_ place is! _This_ place is the only thing I've got to call home since the damn war ended and I won't go back there again! I don't care what happens there and I don't care if I never go back! I swear it on me mum's grave! Everything I've build up, everything I treasure is right here and I won't compromise that to help a Death Eater! Merlin's beard, Gin! I spent nearly ten years of my bloody life fighting against them, I did! Now you want me to turn around and _help_ them?"

He shook his head with increasing vehemence.

"Our future, Gin, don't you see? Everything we have will be for the children and I'm not going to compromise that on a reckless whim! We're not children anymore for Merlin's sake!"

Ginny sighed with defeat.

"It's only a small favor. We didn't tell you because I was afraid this is how you'd react. They've been staying at the holding site right near the first shelter we built."

"This whole time, Gin? Even after the terrible things you went through?"

"It's only one night more, Seamus, maybe two. That's all. Once they're out of Ireland it won't matter to us."

Seamus' face turned even redder.

"It won't matter until Zabini finds out, isn't that right? Bastard might no longer have a job at the British Ministry but I believe Dean when he says that part doesn't matter. Zabini's got a following and it's only a matter of time until he secures himself another cushy position. And if it's in the Irish Ministry we're goners, we are! You know what he does to people who cross him! It's as bad as having another-"

Ginny gave him a look and Seamus fell silent.

_It was as bad as having another bleeding Voldemort._

He didn't say it this time for he had said it too many times in the past and Ginny had stopped wanting to hear it. But it didn't make the thought any less true. Zabini was a tyrant at best and at worst…

"I just don't understand why you couldn't have told me this earlier! Don't trust me, do ya? You never have, to be sure."

Ginny bit her lip.

"That's not so!" she cried out defensively. "Until you I didn't think my life would move on! I didn't believe I'd ever love again and here I am! I trust you! I just…some things are easier done if…not everyone knows."

She looked up at from under her eyelashes.

"I thought you'd be angry."

The words made Seamus want to be angry but somehow at the same time they caused him to check himself. The silence between them grew lengthy before he spoke once again.

"I'm afraid, Ginny. I know that we've been to blasted hell and back but sometimes it just seems like that's never going to end."

She moved to put her arms around him.

He had done the same for her many times in the past.

* * *

><p><em>England<em>

Neville was uncertain of how much time had passed when he next opened his eyes. The truth was he was uncertain of anything except the hunger he had seen in the pale blue eyes of Fenrir Greyback. He shifted and found that he could not move as he was tied to a hard-backed chair. Neville could see nothing and he took a quick breath and closed his eyes, willing his wand come to him.

There was nothing. The room was pitch black and smelled stale and unused as if no one had been there in years.

"Accio wand!"

His words were echoes of helplessness for Neville knew his wand was not with him. As he willed himself not to panic he tried to make out corners, shapes…anything. He shifted against his bonds and a sharp pain not unlike being hit in the head with a bludger assaulted him. Moaning a bit he fell limply against the ropes that bound him. Unwilling to give up, Neville began to search through the bank of his memory in hopes of coming up with a spell that might break the ropes. He assumed the bonds were magical and nearly screamed in frustration as whispered incantations and spells fell uselessly from his lips.

He needed his wand, damn it!

_Here I am, the man who defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time and I can't even free myself from some sodding, magical ropes!_

The miserable thought nearly made Neville laugh aloud.

Shifting against the pain and his bonds once again he began to wiggle his fingers back and forth hoping to loosen himself in the old-fashioned, Muggle way. Sweat broke out along his nose and forehead as he concentrated with everything in him.

For a moment Neville feared that he was completely trapped, helplessly waiting for fate to deal her next hand. But then the ropes began to rub against the back of his chair and a rush of elation filled his heart.

_I'll free myself yet!_

As he wiggled and moved to and fro more vigorously he wasn't aware of the footsteps that moved slowly and deliberately down the stairs and towards the tiny room where he was imprisoned. Only when the door opened with a bang did Neville jump in surprise and stop his attempts at escape.

"Going somewhere, Minister?"

Neville gasped.

"I knew it was you!"

Zabini laughed.

* * *

><p>Luna stared incredulously between Draco and Hermione and once more the brunette attempted to explain.<p>

"Listen, I know it seems harsh…this…what you've just seen. I know it seems like I'm betraying Neville but I can-"

Luna stopped her with a sad shake of her head. Instead of acknowledging Hermione's pleas she seemed more interested in Draco's presence.

"How long have you been back? Where have you been? Do you know what's been happening to…to your kind?"

The questions weren't spoken harshly but neither were they casual; Luna's intensity was seemingly overbearing and Draco winced.

"Look, this isn't the time."

Hermione's fingers trembled as they reached towards Luna.

"I swear I'll explain anything you want but not here. Not…not right now. Draco…he's…I've got to get him out of here."

Leo, who had been playing in the distance, chose that moment to bound back towards his mother, unaware of the tension between the three adults.

"Mama, why can't we fly now?"

He yanked on his mother's arm and grabbed onto Draco's sleeve and freezing when he looked up, wide eyed.

"Where Etamin go?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and knelt, blinking rapidly against the onslaught of heat behind her eyes.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to call Seamus and Ginny. It's time to go home."

She hated lying to her son who looked bewildered for a moment. She nearly wept at how much he resembled Draco right then. She could practically feel Luna's chastising gaze and was also aware of Draco's body tensing next to her.

She could barely hear Luna's voice over the rushing in her ears.

"Leo, I'll take you home."

She was kneeling now, watching Hermione over Leo's head.

"Would that be all right?"

Hermione went limp, eyes watering furiously.

"Y-yes, of course…if…if you want. I thought you…you wanted to talk."

"I do."

She smiled warmly at Leo who still looked confused and repeated his earlier question.

"Where Etamin go?"

"He had to rush, didn't he Hermione?"

Hermione nodded furiously.

"He had to work. Remember? He had business in London."

Leo looked a bit put-off and then bit his lip.

"I liked him," he said dejectedly.

Hermione took that moment to glance up at Draco whose eyes shone with frustration and regret.

* * *

><p>Neville pulled and pushed against his restraint as Blaise watched him with open amusement.<p>

"Even if you had managed to evade the ropes, the door is sealed, Minister. You're stuck with me."

Neville saw Blaise's smile illuminated by dull wand light. He stopped struggling, his head dropping forward.

"You won't get away with this. Someone's probably already looking for me."

His voice was thick with tension and anger.

Blaise laughed richly.

"That would be the point, wouldn't it? Let's just see how important you are to your family, yes?"

Neville's head shot up.

"Is that what this is? A trap? You leave Hermione out of this!"

Blaise knelt near to Neville's chair.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…loyal to the end, aren't you?"

There was no mistaking the mocking tone in the black man's voice.

"She is my _wife!"_

Blaise paused for a welcome moment but Neville began to feel unnerved as the silence between them grew longer. Finally Blaise turned to gaze at Neville solemnly.

"And does such a woman deserve your devotion, Minister? After all, everyone knows the rumors."

He offered a smile that lacked warmth.

"There's a difference between marrying for love and marrying to…move on with life."

Neville, still sensitive from Hermione's earlier revelations nearly broke the magical bindings as he attempted to launch himself at a laughing Blaise.

"Did I touch a nerve, then? Not as trusting as you'd like to be?"

He pondered for a moment and a solemnity fell upon him like a heavy shadow.

"We're not that different, you and I."

Blaise's jaw was clenched.

"Both in love with whores, aren't we?"

Once more the words made Neville jolt forward as if he had been catapulted from a slingshot. The ropes that bound him dug painfully into his torso making him whimper for a moment before falling slack against them once more.

"Don't ever call my wife a whore."

"Have you known all this time what she was? She'd fetch a fair price, I wager. Those men at the alienages were starved for female attention."

His eyes glittered for a moment with a nameless emotion.

"Did you know? I knew. Lavender knew. What did your wife tell you? Surely you've heard about those places! Women offered whatever they could for food…shelter…protection…"

Blaise paused.

"Was she honest about her past? Or does she play games, making herself the victim?"

The questions were met with silence and then Blaise stood up and began to pace slowly through the dark room.

"I would bet you know what it is to feel completely helpless, like the whole world is moving forward and you can't…quite…catch…up."

The man who was bound said nothing, his head still lowered against his chest.

"And you must know the feeling of being completely overwhelmed by someone, thinking they might save you…that they might be the key to all those things so close and yet just out of reach. Maybe that's why you're clinging to that nosy, know-it-all bint? Do you think she can make sense of your life, Minister? The power that's been thrust upon you?"

Neville snorted, realizing his life had been long out of his control – even before Hermione.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

The only sound then was the shuffle of Blaise's shoes against the dusty floor.

"I was so sure that if I just did the right things that this…"

Blaise covered his chest with a trembling hand and Neville could feel him stop.

"This…this hole inside me…"

There was an inexplicable sadness in his voice.

"I thought working for Voldemort…having _purpose…_and then there was her…she was perfect and I thought for sure now…_now…_I would be complete. And then this power, the Alliance…the Ministry…"

He was mumbling now, the sound melting in with the pounding of Neville's anxious heart.

"I always had a reason for everything, didn't I? And yet, I'm no better off than I was years ago."

The last words fell from Blaise's lips bitterly. He turned on Neville, his eyes glittering impossibly in the darkness.

"But being Commander of the Alliance is something I've _earned_! This power is something I have put to good use and there will be no one – not even _you_ – that will dare try and take it away from me!"

Neville's head lolled to the left as he attempted to lift it in Blaise's direction.

"So is that your reason now, Zabini?"

The man standing did not react but for a slight twitching of his jaw. After a moment of stillness Neville found the taller man kneeling before him, so close that he could smell the scent of cigarettes on his breath.

"I fought for everything that's been given to me," he hissed. "I put my blood, sweat and tears into that war! I gave up my family for the frontlines and I'm good at what I do! How dare you take that from me?"

Neville felt the faint pinprick of Blaise's wand against his neck and he flinched, his eyes closing.

"You turned on the people that trusted you!"

"They were Death Eaters! Nothing but soulless, hateful vermin! I'm not like them! You would defend them?"

Neville sighed.

"Not what they've done but the fact that you were once on their side and you turned on them. How do you foster trust? It's sad to know how little you actually _see_."

Blaise grew angry and pointed his wand at Neville vehemently, the tip trembling along the edge of his nose. But the imprisoned man never flinched.

"What do you plan on doing? Holding me here forever? I made my decision."

Blaise cackled.

"Bravado is foolishness, my friend."

There was a small motion and then Neville felt the sharp sting of Blaise's wand as it smacked him along the side of his neck – hard. Still, he remained stubbornly silent and Blaise smiled.

"I'll break you down, Minister. I'll make you wish you never eliminated me from my position."

Neville felt the coolness of Blaise's wand as it slid along his neck. It moved along his throat, stopping right over his pulse.

"What scares you?" Blaise whispered. "Is it being alone? Is it watching your family suffer? Is it losing Hermione and her bastard son?"

Neville twitched and let out a small, choked sound which made Blaise smile.

"What will make you fall to your knees and plead for mercy?"

Neville still said nothing and Blaise grew impatient.

"Perhaps you'd like to experience what your parents did?"

Neville's eyes flew open just as Blaise's wand raised in the air.

"Crucio!"

There was pain and Neville screamed.

* * *

><p>Hermione reached down to squeeze Draco's hand for a moment. Then she gazed imploringly at Luna.<p>

"I know this is too much to ask but if anyone sees him like this…"

Within moments Luna had grudgingly restored Draco's disguise. They both gazed at the man that stood before them and once again Hermione was overwhelmed. It didn't matter what he looked like; she would always know it was _him._

She met Draco's eyes.

"Can you give Luna and I…one moment, please?"

The plea caused her voice to break and without another word Draco turned and hurried towards Leo not even sparing Luna a glance.

The two women stood facing one another the silence between them so thick it could be cut by a knife. Luna spoke first.

"This whole time, Hermione?"

The brunette shook her head.

"No! You've got to believe me! I would never want to hurt Neville like that! He's my husband and I love him! I moved on because I believed Draco was…"

She choked on the last words the feeling of helplessness washing over her – the same helplessness she had felt for months and months after coming to Cardiff for the first time. In spite of the fact that she had moved on with her life and chosen to love another man her heart had always clung to the futile hope that somewhere Draco was…

"Has he been in England this whole time? Did he send you away but manage to stay alive during the fall of the Ministry?"

Hermione blinked rapidly.

"He…he never…he was imprisoned for awhile but managed to escape during the attack on the Ministry right before the war ended. And he's been on the run since then."

"He came here to find you?"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears at the coldness in Luna's voice and the look of reproach in her soft, gray eyes.

"No…no…he just wanted to make sure I was all right. I…it wasn't…the way you think it was. We never meant…any harm, I swear."

Luna was silent for a few moments as if considering her response. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.

"How long has he been here?"

"Months."

Luna's eyes flickered in the direction of Draco and Leo.

"Does he know Leo is-?"

There was no hesitation in Hermione's voice.

"Yes."

"Does Leo know?"

"No! Merlin's beard I can't do that to a little boy! He believes Neville's his father and I…I can't do that to either of them. Not with the way the world is now; it would be too hurtful."

But it was clear in Hermione's voice – the regret and wistfulness. Luna bit back the torrent of words that threatened her – words of disappointment, anger and resentment. Instead she dropped her head.

"You've been lying to us for months, Hermione."

The words were terse and flat.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way! I didn't know he was still alive! I didn't want this to happen!"

The two women stared at one another.

"You should be ashamed!"

"Of what?" Hermione exclaimed defensively. "Of loving a man so much I can't stop? Of moving on with my life? Of both?"

Luna was taken aback and Hermione took her silence as a chance to continue.

"You said yourself that sometimes it's hard to move on but eventually you do! You loved your husband so much you never moved on! But I'm not that way! What was I supposed to do, Luna? Mope the rest of my life away? Another chance was offered to me and I did what I believed was right! You can't stand there and really believe that I should be ashamed of loving anyone, can you?"

Luna's cheeks flushed crimson and for the first time her determination was shadowed by a flickering of sympathy. Her voice was a whisper.

"When Draco came back to London, how did you know?"

Hermione hung her head, her cheeks warming at the thought of that first moment in the abandoned, brick house. The way her heart had stopped…the way he had looked at her…the way time had ceased to matter…and the way she had felt to be in his arms once again.

She felt hear body responding still – her heart racing and her skin warming.

"I didn't…I…I was shopping for property and…"

She hung her head.

"He…he was hiding out in one of the houses that had been left abandoned after the war," she revealed in a small voice.

Luna bit her lower lip for a second before letting out a gasp.

"The brick house you bought for the Ministry!"

Hermione acknowledged the truth with a solemn nod and Luna flung her hands out.

"No wonder you purchased that place! It seemed rather odd at the time but…"

She shook her head and Hermione couldn't quite read the expression in the depths of her usually kind eyes.

"So…you've been going to see him since then?"

"Yes."

"Have you broken your vows to Neville?"

The question was such a personal one and yet Luna had managed to get to the core of Hermione's conscience with only a few simple, blunt words. She didn't have to speak, however, for her infidelity was suddenly written on her face like invisible ink upon parchment.

Luna's face fell.

"Oh, Hermione," she whispered.

Hermione reached out with broken arms hoping for comfort but Luna did not move to embrace her.

* * *

><p>Draco had never felt joy as real as the moment that his son recognized him once again. It didn't matter that he was in disguise or that his time would not last forever – he was simply overwhelmed by the simplicity of love he felt for Leo. Etamin Black did not exist; he was a figment of Ginny Finnigan's imagination but if Leo could learn to love Etamin, Draco would remain Etamin forever.<p>

He had never wanted anything in his life with such sheer desire as the need to be loved by his own son.

Beneath that were touches of frustration at not being able hear Leo call him 'daddy.' There was pain at never truly being able to love Hermione the way he wanted to. And jealousy for a man that deserved nothing but the utmost respect.

_Longbottom is braver than all of us. Bloody hell, I'm a coward if I ever believed to be a better man than he is! And I feel nothing towards him but this jealous and hatred so black-_

"Etamin, wassa matter with Mama?"

Draco cleared his throat, swallowing down all his battling emotions to focus on his son.

"Sometimes, grownups have to be worried about things, Leo. Your Mama worries about you and your…d-daddy."

He found the word 'daddy' to be offensive; it pained him to even speak such blasphemy and yet…

Leo was watching Draco intently.

"Is he gonna be fine?"

Draco nodded, swallowing again. It was like something aching and dry had lodged itself in his throat.

"He will be."

There was a solemn silence and then Leo spoke once again.

"My borned daddy is dead."

Draco blinked away the heat behind his eyes.

"W-what?"

"Just like Albus, James and Lily. Say-mouse is not their borned daddy. He just their borrowed daddy 'till they get to see their real daddy again."

Draco nodded and then stopped walking along the edges of the well-kept path between the park trees. He knelt so he was face to face with his son.

"You mean your birth father?"

"Is what I said! My borned daddy. Mama says he was a great whiz and that I look like him! She also says I am lucky 'cause my borrowed daddy is a good man. I love him and I don't want him to be sick."

Draco reached to put his hand on Leo's shoulder.

"I am sure your daddy loves you, Leo. How could he not?"

_How could anyone loathe a family like Hermione and Leo? Merlin, if there was a spell, a way to turn back time forever, I would-_

"Am I bad because I think about my borned daddy? Am I bad because I want to meet him even though I have a good borrowed daddy?"

"What?"

"I know I should not think about him 'cause I have another daddy now but sometimes I wonder about him. I axe Mama but she gets sad when she talks about that."

Draco's mouth moved but nothing came out. He forgot everything – the danger that surrounded them, the fact that within moments he might never see his son again – all of it.

_I'm your birth father! I'm standing here, holding your hand and looking into your eyes and I can't say it! I can't say it! I'm sorry, Leo, I'm so sorry!_

"You're not bad," Draco managed to say throatily. Then he said something he immediately regretted.

"I knew your birth father."

Leo's eyes lit up brilliantly.

* * *

><p>Luna's face had gone pale leaving only two spots of color high on her cheeks. Her voice had taken on a shrill, indignant quality.<p>

"Your husband nearly died! And even now you can't be honest with him? You can't tell him the truth? Why, Hermione? Are you afraid of losing your precious position as the Minister's wife? Is that it? Or do you enjoy hurting someone that loves you that much?"

Luna's irrational words reached Hermione's heart and she felt it breaking.

"Haven't you been listening even a bit?" she cried out. "This wasn't about hurting Neville! I moved on never believing that Draco would ever return! It wasn't as if I awoke one day and wondered how I could hurt Neville the most!"

Her face was a mask of anger.

_I will not cry. I will not let them vilify me!_

"I was afraid that he would be angry with me so if I am guilty of anything its selfishness. And Merlin knows I'm selfish; I've long ago determined that and made peace with it! Don't you dare make me out to be some heartless shrew! Not you, Luna! I thought you knew me; I thought you were a friend in this cruel world!"

As Hermione paused to take in a strangled breath her thoughts whirled within her tumultuously. She recalled the pain and disappointment in Ginny's eyes and the realization and ridicule in Neville's. She knew the world would look down upon her.

_I knew it. I knew it, so why is this so bloody hard to take? _

"I apologize for hurting my husband and not telling him the truth right away. I am sorry for being an awful person and a crap wife. But I am _not_ sorry for loving Draco Malfoy."

Luna would not relent.

"I can't believe you'd stand there and defend your actions," she said with a sigh. "After everything they've put you through-"

"Stop!"

Hermione's demand was angry and shrill.

"Stop it! I've heard it all and I know what I feel makes no sense; it never did! But it is what it is and I'm not going to be sorry. I'm not going to feel guilty. Not anymore. I love him and that's that. I won't ever regret a moment of the time we spent together because while the rest of the world abandoned me I found shelter in him."

Her eyes shone with determination and an everlasting devotion.

"He's a good man and I will never, ever turn on him."

"All while the rest of your life and relationships go down the drain," Luna replied flatly. "You would spit on the devotion and love that Neville's offered you just so you can be with a Death Eater?"

"Stop it, Luna."

Hermione's words were soft but there was no mistaking the strength that they possessed.

"I don't think I ever knew you, Hermione."

The brunette lifted her chin and took a breath.

"And I don't think you were ever my friend."

She turned then so that Luna would never have to see the pain of realizing such a thing.

"That's not true," came Luna's pained reply. "I love you and I love your son like you were family. I just don't understand."

Hermione had steeled herself.

"No one does. I just need you to love me in spite of that."

Luna was silent and Hermione's heart broke.

* * *

><p>Neville opened his bleary eyes and retched as waves of pain still rolled over his spent body. He was no longer bound to the chair although he could feel where the bindings had rubbed his flesh raw – but now that pain was only a mild irritation compared to the remnants of pain inflicted by Blaise's latest round of torture.<p>

Still, Neville had not budged or reneged on his decision to remove Blaise Zabini from his Ministry post. The other wizard stood, looming over Neville, his wand raised.

"Go ahead and kill me. It won't make it any easier for you to get back your post. My…choice…has been…made."

Even the words were difficult in Neville's weakened state and they caused Blaise to titter lightly.

"You bloody, stubborn imbecile! Don't you understand that all this pain is for naught? All you have to do is give me back what is rightfully mine!"

He poked Neville with the wand.

"Do the smart thing, Minister. You're already trying whatever's left of my patience."

But Neville would not speak. For the first time since the war he had made a decision that he knew was the right one. Blaise Zabini was dangerous and he would have no more influence in the Ministry.

_Not as long as I am Minister for Magic!_

His thoughts steeled him and offered some strength which had long become elusive.

"You're a fool," whispered Blaise. "How many of your family and loved ones will have to suffer until you change your mind?"

Blaise had knelt on the dirty floor next to Neville, watching him with curious, black eyes.

"What's most important?"

Neville would no longer look the other man in the eyes and instead lay on the cold, dirty ground staring sightlessly up into the gloomy darkness. When, after a period of time, he did not speak, Blaise jammed his wand painfully into Neville's neck.

"If you can't be persuaded, perhaps I can have your family persuade you."

Neville did not react.

"What if I knock them off…one by one?"

He moved his wand along Neville's torso almost playfully, emphasizing each word with a tap. When Neville continued to stay silent a visible agitation began to blanket the former Commander and he got to his feet with a frustrated flourish, the room suddenly sounding with his angry pacing.

"You're a fool, Minister – the biggest fool if you think I'll just give up what is mine! Hopefully when you hear the screams of your own family you'll see the light!"

Neville offered nothing but a scared, choked whimper as Blaise removed a shiny, gold Galleon from the depths of his pocket. He tapped his wand against it and then waved it with a flourish and the coin shifted and shimmered before the words appeared on it:

_Target is uncooperative. Find and bring me his family._

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the slums of London, in those areas of the city that healing from the war had not yet begun, Fenrir Greyback clutched a dirty coin in the palm of his calloused palm. When it began to burn against his ruined flesh he glanced down at it for the message.<p>

His new target in mind, the wolf crept out of the decay of London society which was ripe for the hunt.

* * *

><p>Leo's eyes grew wide with wonder.<p>

"What you mean, Etamin?"

There was a moment when Draco couldn't think of what to say next, shocked at his own words, kicking himself for even saying them. But before he could actually reply, Luna was there – weird, little Luna whom Draco had never held in any esteem, even back when they had been in school together.

He shouldn't have cared what she thought of him, shouldn't have given a piss that she was glaring at him reproachfully. The sad look in her eyes should not have made him feel like the whole world was disappointed in him.

But all those things were true.

For a moment they only stared at one another and then Luna crouched down and reached for Leo's hand.

"Luna! Etamin knows my borned daddy!"

Her smile was thin and tight.

"You must be confused darling. It's time for me to take you home."

She sounded strange – not like the girl he remembered and certainly not like the compassionate woman Hermione had described. She was cold, distant…she was mistrustful.

"He said it, Luna!"

Leo turned to stare up at Draco, reaching to yank on his hand with determination.

"Didn't you say that?" he demanded.

_He's just like me,_ Draco thought with a distracted wonder. _I remember when I was like this and my father would scold me because I was irritating him! How strange that now…_

Draco also crouched down and spared Luna a glance even though he didn't want to look at her. Her eyes said it all - _not another word._

"Listen, Leo. I must go; I have business in the city. We can talk about this another time, all right?"

It hurt to say the words, to be so close to the truth and not be able to speak it. But he had done enough damage already. Hermione was standing behind Luna, in the distance, in the corners of his awareness and she was already suffering.

"But you said-"

"I know what I said and I promise that if I come see you again it'll be the first thing we talk about."

Leo stared at Draco missing the difference between 'if' and 'when'. Draco knew that he might not see his son again; in fact, he doubted he would. Tears were burning behind his eyes, dry and painful and not even blinking eased the discomfort.

"You promise for real?"

"I do."

"Old people sometimes say stuff they don't mean."

"That may be true but I always keep my promises."

Leo considered Draco once again and finally conceded his desires.

"You come soon, okay? I have a swimming pool and a huge room to play games in! You can teach me more magics 'cause maybe by then I'll have a wand!"

Draco smiled despite his misery.

"That sounds brilliant."

"Good!"

The boy grew a bit shy, offering a smile.

"I like you, Etamin."

Draco wanted to weep.

"And I like you, Leo."

Luna's reproachful gaze had faltered at the exchange between father and son and when Draco stood, their eyes met. No words were exchanged and Draco watched with regret and sadness as his son was suddenly whisked away from him in an invisible whirlwind of magic. He had never felt more alone even though Hermione hurried to his side.

"Come on," she whispered with urgency. "I know this isn't easy but Seamus is waiting at the orphanage near his village. The others are there."

He paused, feeling as if he wasn't actually part of the scene before him but instead staring down at it.

"Pansy?"

"Yes, Draco, yes. She's there…she…she misses you, I'm sure."

And he missed her too; she had been the only one that stuck by him through thick and thin. She was the sort of friend that every person wanted but few would actually have. He loved her; he had always loved her in his own way. Maybe not the way that she had wanted him to but he had loved her.

"Hermione."

She was blinking rapidly as if holding back some powerful emotion. Her lower lip was trembling and she caught it against her teeth.

"We have to hurry, Draco. We can say good-bye there, once we're safe."

"You don't-"

"Draco, please," she urged taking his hand.

Then they, too, disappeared.

* * *

><p><em>St. Mungo's<em>

Ginny stood against the receptionists desk at St. Mungo's, a frown on her face.

"His Healer said that?"

"Yes," said the sprightly-looking witch on duty. "I was told explicitly that the Minister needed to be left alone so that he could fully recover. We've only had one staff member tending to his needs and he hasn't called us for a thing in several hours."

Ginny frowned a bit. It wasn't like Neville to not have contacted at least Seamus.

"Would you mind very much if I visited him? I know he's a high profile patient but I am family."

The woman considered this.

"Well, you don't seem like some of the others that have come through here," she replied. "I've lost track of how many reporters have been here. I even had a wizard from the Wireless inquire if he might have an audience for an interview. It's nearly maddening."

Ginny sympathized appropriately but her mind was on Neville inside his hospital room, not receiving any visitors.

_He must be so miserable! _

Having to deal with the attack on top of the truths Hermione had told him…well, Ginny didn't want to think about it.

After a moment or two the witch at the receptionists desk allowed Ginny to pass and she hurried down the pristine corridor towards Neville's room. The door was shut tight.

Ginny felt a wave of unease wash over her, coming and fading quickly. She knocked and when no one answered from within the second wave came and stayed, drowning her in worry and causing her fingers to grow icy.

"Neville?"

Her voice was soft as she finally pushed the door open.

The room was in disarray and the bed empty, the sheets having been pushed about messily. She saw the water pitcher spilled on the ground next to the bed, the water glittering from the overhead lighting.

The fear that gripped Ginny's heart grew stronger so that she had trouble breathing. Neville was gone. Would he have left on his own? Or was this another attempt on his life?

Turning, she dashed back out into the corridor, lifting her wand as she went. She sent her Patronus ahead of her to warn the others.


	73. Chapter 73

_Life is busy! I have a full house and three children every other weekend – plus work. Thanks again for all the support! I hope you continue to enjoy._

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE<p>

* * *

><p><em>London<em>

Hermione and Draco faced off against each other on the stoop of the house she shared with Neville.

She hadn't intended to bring Draco there; it seemed somehow wrong to bring the man who had claimed her heart to the home that she shared with a husband that she could never love as much as she loved Draco.

So terribly wrong.

"You don't know that it's me Zabini's after!"

The walk leading up to the massive stone house was empty and the landscaping and trees in the distance did not offer many places to hide. Neville had made it so because of the nature of his position; one could never be too trusting. Hermione was glad for it now because she still feared someone might see Draco and recognize him for who he was beneath the disguise.

"Draco, don't be foolish! You know he's dangerous!"

The words were hushed pleas as they fell from her lips and she glared up at him angrily. Draco had chosen this moment to be difficult, to stand his ground – this moment, when everything was hanging precariously in a balance and the fallout was unpredictable. It was maddening.

For a moment it seemed that he would once more present a rebuttal to her words but in the end, Draco relented and lapsed into a tense silence. The birds sang gaily in the nearby trees and Hermione could hear the whispered rustling of the wind against their leaves. She searched his eyes the next time he spoke, trying to read the inexplicable expression in their depths.

"I only wanted to see Leo one last time. I know what I said, Hermione. I knew that I'd have to…leave eventually but don't you understand? It's so bloody hard to leave my family. MY family! It doesn't matter that Neville's your husband."

Draco reached down to clasp her hand with fervor.

"It won't ever matter; _I'm_ Leo's father."

Hermione's eyes shimmered as she pulled him closer.

"I know it. I would never refute that; I never have. God knows even in the darkest hours when I though I would never see you again-"

She looked away from Draco's gaze and towards the house.

"But it's not about you and Leo. It's not about trying to keep you from your son. The reality is that Neville's been maliciously attacked; I don't know who might be next but I know I have to protect the people I love the most. You and Leo."

There was a silence and Draco found himself unable to argue with her logic. Zabini was a madman; it might always have been so. He recalled moments of their friendship, like blurry, faded snapshots. School, Quidditch, and then the Ministry…the long hours, the weekends of pub hopping…the fact that Zabini had done what he could to save Hermione.

Draco even remembered the clear love that had shone in Zabini's eyes when he had spoken of Lavender and Daisy. It seemed unreal that so much had changed. That underneath all that Zabini had been a man unhinged.

His jaw quivered slightly and he pushed all thoughts of Zabini away.

"Just another moment, that's all I want, Hermione. If you could just let me see Leo again for a few minutes…"

His longing was a sudden, tangible emotion. Hermione found herself relenting and just as she pulled his hand towards her home there was a disturbance behind them that made her stop.

They turned to see a blinding, white light racing through the trees, making the leaves shimmer as if with pristine frost. The white fog moved towards them, twisting and turning, as if trying to take on a solid shape. For a few seconds it seemed to thicken before once more dissipating into a glimmering fog.

"What in Merlin's balls is-?"

Then, Hermione _knew._

_It's a Patronus!_

At the realization her stomach lurched, dropped and she felt the picnic food she had consumed threaten her. She had only felt this way one other occasion: on the day Bill had married Fleur.

She recalled the laughter and happiness at the wedding reception afterwards and the way Kingsley had sent his Patronus-

Kingsley – gone just like so many others…

The Patronus was nearly upon them and Hermione anticipated recognition – but the fog never became corporeal. Before either of them could utter a word there was a voice that emanated from somewhere within the sparkling fog.

"Protect your child, Hermione."

It was a female voice, and a weak and frightened one at that.

"Protect your child."

It was strained and quiet.

Hermione felt her blood run cold and her body freeze even though the only thing she wanted to do was break away and gather her son into her arms.

"What the bloody fuck is going on?"

Draco's anger broke through Hermione's terror.

"Draco-"

He tore away from Hermione's grip and launched himself at the glimmering mass. Nothing happened and then the scared, female voice spoke again.

"Hurry, Hermione. He has Neville. I can't…I shouldn't be doing... They know about me. They know I saw you in that alleyway."

Hermione gasped.

"Lavender! Where are you? If you're not safe come-"

"No, Hermione. I can't. But you can't wait another second. Go."

Suddenly the shimmering Patronus seemed to waver and fade. At first there was nothing to be heard but then Hermione made out a strangled cry and just like that, the Patronus was gone.

The silence that followed was startling. Hermione could only hear the loud hammering of he own heart and with every beat, Lavender's words echoed over and over, like a litany.

_Protect your child._

She wasn't even aware that Draco ran after her as she turned and dashed towards the house.

* * *

><p>Lavender struggled like a ferocious animal, trying to tear away from the iron-like grip of her husband.<p>

"Let me go!"

The words were uttered over and over from behind clenched lips, a seeming tirade against all the wrongs that had been done to her over the years.

"Let me _go_!"

She was a hard one to subdue, Blaise knew. She had always been a fighter – a force to be reckoned with.

"Stop it, you silly bint!"

He was breathing against her ear and even as Lavender struggled she felt his touch against her flesh, cold and clammy, as if he were a reptile and not a man. She had been touched this way, felt these feelings too many times to count in too many unmentionable places. She would no longer look at him as her husband but just as another man who had wanted to use her for his own ends. He was not – had not been – any different.

But, oh, Merlin! It hurt so bloody much because Lavender had _wanted_-

She began to struggle harder and when it seemed futile she leaned down and sank her teeth into the fleshy part of the top of his hand causing him to yelp up in pain and surprise, giving her the moment of time she needed to finally free herself. Heart pounding furiously, she broke into a run across the dirty alley but he caught up to her in less than a second and Lavender was thrown against the damp, brick wall of the east facing building.

"You bitch," he hissed, so close that she felt his spittle against her flesh. "You betrayed me and now you dare run from me?!"

Lavender refused to cower, simply staring up at him with defiance.

"You've long ago gotten from me what you've wanted," she replied. "Let me go, Blaise."

The words were oddly calm and sad in the face of their struggle and perhaps it was this that caused Blaise to pause and watch her intently, the silence spreading across a lengthening time.

"After everything I've done for you? You would treat me as second rate? You would defy me and blatantly betray my trust?"

Each word was sharp, as if he intended to pierce her soul with his words. The wand that dangled between his long fingers trembled.

"You, the woman I loved for so long? The mother of my child?"

"I can't stand it anymore! Is there nothing you won't do to hurt those around you?! I loved you too! I wanted a life, a family with YOU! It was that very thing which got me through the darkest moments of my life!"

At her outcry, Blaise reached out and struck her across the face with his palm. Lavender's eyes watered but she did not cry.

"You ungrateful, little wench," he hissed, yanking on her arm so that she winced with pain. "I should flog you for daring to speak to me that way!"

"For daring to tell the truth?"

"You deserve to rot."

She lifted her chin.

"Do your best then; it is not like it'll matter. You can't kill me, Blaise. I'm already dead."

The words she had long ago uttered to Draco Malfoy rang across the damp, musty space between them. His lip turned up in a sneer.

"Death is too good for you," he replied. She stared at him.

* * *

><p>Lavender's arse had long ago gone numb from sitting in one place too long. The coldness from the cement floor of her prison had seeped into her very bones and she was unable to stop her shivering.<p>

Blaise had taken her wand; he had stripped her of any and all of her defenses. All she had left was the wandless magic she had learned as she had trudged through life. Not that it would have done her any good. She was in a room that was nearly dark and she was chained to the wall, the metal cuffs secure around her thin wrists so that nothing she had tried could loosen them. She was trapped.

Lavender shifted a bit to try and ease the ache of her lower half and as she had done a thousand times in the last several hours, her eyes flickered towards the form lying on the other side of the room. A terrible guilt flooded her, bringing with it the terrible iciness that froze her heart.

Lavender knew who the lifeless form was and she also knew that it was her fault he was there.

"Neville," she whispered.

She wondered if anyone might be able to tell the heaviness of her guilt just from the way she said his name.

"Neville, can you hear me?"

She had tried this over and over again and he had not moved. Each moment that passed filled her with greater grief than the last. The idea that she was sharing a cell with dead man was not what terrified her. No, she feared only that God, if He existed, would never forgive her for the sins she had committed.

Neville had never been anything but kind to Lavender. She remembered the awkward boy he had been in school and then…the man he had become over time. He had been the one to defeat Voldemort; he had saved thousands and thousands of Muggle-borns and half bloods. He had done it himself; the same boy they had all made fun off so long ago.

And now he lay there, possibly dead…

_And it's my fault!_

The tears that she would not shed in front of her husband glimmered in her eyes now, burning like fire.

"Neville."

He had been a good man – a just, fair man. He had been the Minister. He had married Hermione, had become a father to a boy who wasn't even his! What man existed who was as selfless, as _good_? All her resentment and jealousy would not erase the truth – this was the truest man that existed. None was better.

_What if I murdered him? What if my fear of Blaise brought on Neville's senseless death? _

Closing her eyes brought Lavender some relief but the monster of guilt began to chew away at her heart.

_What have I done?_

Lavender wondered if Blaise had known how she would feel. He could, after all, read her mind – she had never been able to hide anything from him. What if this was what he had meant? If death was too good for her then what of this Hell? Would she be here, staring at her guilt forever? Would Blaise not let her see Daisy again? Would this be her life until her last breath?

"Neville!"

Her voice cracked in the darkness, more insistent then before but to no avail.

How long had he been here? She could not remember when she had cursed the teacup. Days now? Weeks, perhaps? He had been at St. Mungo's, this she knew, but after?

Shuddering, Lavender dropped her head, her eyes still burning impossibly.

"Please, please, forgive me," she whispered to no one at all.

* * *

><p>Leo looked up, startled, when the door to his room crashed open. A man stood there, dressed in ragged robes. He wore a peculiar look on his dirty face and he smelled bad.<p>

"Who you?"

Leo asked the question without thinking, for his mother had taught him over and over again never to speak to someone he didn't know. But if he didn't know this man, why was he in their house? He had wanted to tell the nanny but in the end, Leo decided he was too big to go running to a grownup, no matter what Mama told him. And anyway, his borrowed daddy was the Mister for Magic. So that meant lots of people might come through the house and he wouldn't know them.

The stinky man spoke.

"My name is Fenrir."

He had a growly sort of voice, Leo decided as he watched the man with wide, gray eyes. Kind of like a dog. He had long, scraggly hair like he hadn't combed it in days. And his teeth were yellow and pointed.

"Are you looking for my Daddy? He's in da horspidal."

The man called Fenrir smiled at Leo. The little boy decided he didn't like the smile; he decided that he didn't like _anything_ about the man called Fenrir. Everything about him made Leo feel like running to the nanny. Everything but his eyes because they were blue and blue meant happy.

Except that Leo knew somehow that this man was not happy.

"I've actually come to see you."

Again there was the growly voice that made Leo's belly feel funny, like he was scared except he _wasn't_ because he wasn't a baby anymore.

Leo stared back at Fenrir as he stood up on the bed.

"I wanna get my nanny. She does not like me talking ta peoples I don't know."

The man called Fenrir had stepped into the room completely and the strange, scary smile remained on his scraggly face.

"Even if I told you I know your daddy is out of the hospital?"

Leo stopped just as his mouth had opened to call out to the nanny. The room was silent as the little boy considered the older man. The offer seemed much too enticing to the child.

"Where he go, den, if he's outta da horspital? This is his house."

Fenrir reached out towards Leo with one hand. He had long, dirty fingernails, the kind that Mama hated. She always made him wash his hands when his nails got like that. He eyed the hand mistrustfully.

"I don't wanna hold your hand."

The man called Fenrir offered a loud laugh that made Leo want to cry.

"You don't have a choice, Poppet."

Leo let out a squeaky sound and wished that his Mama was there. He wished his Daddy was there too, and Etamin. He liked Etamin. He wished Luna hadn't left so quickly and he wondered what had happened to the nanny.

Then he stared as Fenrir pulled out a long black wand just like the kind Mama had. So he was a whiz!

As the man stepped towards him, Leo felt Fenrir's ugly fingers clamp down on his own so that it hurt. He didn't want to cry but in the end he did. He cried even though he wanted to be a big boy.

"I want my Mama!"

"You'll get her soon enough," sneered Fenrir.

Leo gagged when he was pressed against the folds of the ugly man's robes. For a moment he wished really hard for a wand. He wished he could fight.

There was a flash of light and Leo wished no more.

* * *

><p>Hermione ran into the large foyer, breathless from her exertion.<p>

She looked around trying to garner some sense of calm from the familiar surroundings. This was her home, the one she shared with her husband and son, no matter where her heart was. Her decorations were arranged about, there was the scent of summer flowers, the large, moving photographs of Neville and Leo…

A faint, squeaky cry sounded from upstairs. At first, Hermione was frozen but then her brain registered that it was the sound of her son crying.

"He's in his bedroom!" she cried out, not turning to see if Draco would follow. Instinctively she knew he would. Her heart had frozen at the sound of her son's crying and now it hammered wildly, the blood pumping within her body like a river of fire, fueling her to continue forward, to get to her son before whomever it was that was after him.

She would not lose her son – that much Hermione knew. If she lost everyone else, so be it, but she _would not_ lose her son.

She ran down the hallway and through the open, wooden door of Leo's room just in time to see Fenrir Greyback cradling the body of her unconscious son.

"Let him go!" she raged, wielding her wand at the half-wolf.

Her body was tense with anger, the white-hot sort that made it difficult to breathe. Her mind whirled violently and the only coherent thought Hermione could grasp onto was the fact that she would protect her son.

"Let him go!"

Her demand was repeated when she saw nothing from Greyback except a smug grimace that she wanted to wipe from his disgusting, hateful face.

"Or what?" he replied curiously. "Will you hex me? Do you dare face me when I hold your son's life in my hands?"

He offered a wide smile, showcasing his yellow, ragged teeth.

"I love children, as you know. Always the tastiest."

Hermione's wand trembled slightly in the air as Greyback licked his lips. She felt her gorge rise for the second time in mere moments.

The wolf's eyes flickered away from Hermione.

"And what do we have here?" he asked, leering at Draco with interest.

For a moment the room was silent and Hermione wondered if Greyback could tell that it was Draco under the disguise.

"Why, if you aren't a little trollop! Cavorting with another man while the Minister lies helplessly in the hospital?"

He laughed and it sounded gleefully hateful. Hermione refused to budge or falter.

"You GIVE ME **MY SON**!" she screamed fighting the urge to show her fear. She couldn't; she couldn't let Greyback win!

Fenrir dangled Leo's body before her teasingly.

"Hmmm…seems I have something you want, yes? Perhaps if you come with me…?"

Hermione didn't have to think. She was certain that Draco would care for Leo if something happened to her, if for some reason both she and Neville perished.

She took a determined step forward, looking Greyback in the eyes.

"I'll do whatever I have to. Leave him and take me, then."

The wolf was silent, as if considering the new conditions. Just when Hermione was about to demand a reply she was startled by Draco's calm and quiet words from behind her.

"No. Take _me_ instead. Leave Herm- the woman and the boy and take me."

Greyback's eyes flickered at him with interest.

"And why, pray tell, would I want you?"

Hermione watched in horror as Draco pushed up the long, white sleeve of his dress shirt to reveal the faded Mark on his pale forearm. For the first time since they had confronted him, Greyback looked shocked.

"Death Eater," he whispered. "Why, you're one of the _wanted_, aren't you?"

The words fell from his cracked lips with hungry anticipation. Hermione could nearly _taste_ the wolf's excitement.

Draco did not move except to step closer to Greyback, offering himself completely.

"I _am_ a wanted man. What do you want with the Minister's family?"

Draco's voice broke at the word 'family'.

"Who do you work for? Is it Zabini? He wants me; he wants us – the Death Eaters. Take me instead."

The wolf's eyes were two, shiny blue orbs of excitement and he didn't deny Draco's claims.

Hermione's heart stopped.

* * *

><p>Neville was aware from the moment he regained his consciousness that he wasn't alone. How he knew that, he didn't know. The room was still nearly lightless and as he stared up into the darkness above him it wasn't like he could hear anyone else moving about.<p>

The silence was a still as the tomb.

"Hello?"

His voice sounded aching and broken to his own ears. The reply he received was instantaneous, ripe with relief and something like joy.

"Oh, God! Oh, Neville, thank God! Thank God, are you…a-are you all right?"

A woman's voice – husky and honeyed. A voice that seemed familiar but one that wasn't intimate.

He heard the sound of shuffling, the clanging of chains against the cement and then a curse when the chains halted the progression of movement. She had been trying to get to him, whoever she was.

"Who are you?" Neville managed to ask.

He wondered how much time had passed. Hours? Days, perhaps?

"C-can you move any closer, Neville?"

Her voice was muted now as if darkened by the shadows. She was nearer to him now and at her beckoning, Neville managed to pull his aching body against the damp stone floor, closer, closer to her.

He thought of all the female voices in his life – his mother's comforting murmur in all his boyish memories, the voice of his friends in school, Luna's lilting voice reminding him of a time that he had loved her. The world-weary, husky words of Pansy Parkinson whom he had thought he hated and of course, his wife. Hermione's voice echoed in his mind.

"Who are you?"

Neville laid still now, his belly against stone and suddenly he felt the soft brush of another human hand against his own. It brought him more comfort than anything had since his abduction.

"Forgive me," she muttered painfully. "Please, I beg you. I never thought…I never…"

He lay in silence for a long moment, his body frozen as he waited for her to continue. But she did not and he found himself moving to wrap his fingers around hers. He heard the sound of her sobbing.

"I'm so afraid," she said. "I was so afraid of what he might do, you see. I wanted him to love me but he's not…he's not capable of that. I only wanted to be loved."

There was pain and shame in her smoky voice now and without having to ask, Neville knew.

"Lavender."

He could make out her soft choke of surprise but other than that, she was silent. For a moment he felt her grip his fingers tighter and the brush of her long curls against his flesh.

"I'm sorry," she repeated again. "It was me."

"You?"

"The teacup; I cursed the teacup."

Neville heard the remorse in her voice; he heard the fear that tinged the edges of her words. He knew she was sorry. But there was little left for him to be angry about.

"We all do things we're sorry for," he whispered in reply.

She was crying then; he could feel the wetness against his cool flesh.

"I thought I was doing the right thing! I thought because he was my husband that I ought-"

But there was more to her words; there was a deeper meaning to what she was saying. Neville wondered if he would ever know the truth.

* * *

><p><em>Ireland<em>

The only sound in the large, empty room was Dean's pacing.

The sound of his shoes against the new, wooden floors was as comforting as it was irritating. Nothing had been said since Ginny had Apparated to the still unoccupied building that would soon become one of the first post-war orphanages. Up until that day the only occupants had been the Death Eaters in hiding. They had made an ominous presence since Hermione had brought them there – never speaking, only waiting for whatever was to come. England meant eventual capture; Ginny was certain they knew that. They waited for freedom, or, at least something like it.

_Hermione._

Ginny wondered where her friend was.

Was she still with Draco now? Were they trying to spend those last few, precious moments together before he joined the rest of the group here? Did she even _know_ that Neville was missing?

Her heart constricted both with sadness for her friend and with fear that if they didn't act quickly the same thing that had happened to Neville would happen to someone else. Who was next? Leo? Hermione herself?

Oh, God. _Neville._

She had made the announcement of his disappearance only moments before, causing the color to drain from both her husband and Dean's faces. But the one that was most stricken – and the one that surprised Ginny – was Luna.

Luna, who had never looked as stricken as she did right then. Luna, whose love for Neville was clearly written on her face, as ink was upon parchment.

Ginny felt a poignant rush of pain against the edges of her conscious thoughts as she recalled the feelings of realization that Harry was gone, that Harry was _dead-_

No. It wasn't going to be like that now. The war was over; the past was just that – the _past._

Ginny glanced towards Luna who was sitting in the furthest corner, her fair hair framing her pale face like a filmy curtain. The other occupants of the large room were remnants of the former Alliance – those that were left, anyway.

Dean was the only one that had managed to remain standing the entire time, his anxiousness pushing him forward into incessant pacing. Seamus had contacted Charlie who had come with Angelina. They sat huddled together next to the empty place where Dean had been sitting. A few others were with them – but it was glaringly obvious that Hermione and Neville were missing.

To make matters worse, Luna had revealed to them all that had happened in the park earlier; they all knew the truth about Draco and Hermione and why she and Neville had agreed to help the last remnants of Death Eaters.

The room had fallen into silence only moments after Luna's revelations. After it had sunk in Ginny found that she was not surprised it had come out this way. The truth always had a way of coming out during the most unfortunate times.

_I only wish that it didn't paint Hermione in such a horrible light._

"We ought to hurry."

Seamus sounded pained; Ginny recognized the fear and strain in his subdued tone. "Sure, I don't want to be caught helping _them_. I want to wipe my hands clean of this, I do!"

Someone coughed and then the blaming began.

"That's right! It's because of _her _that we're in this position!"

The voice caused Dean to stop pacing and the room fell into a stark silence.

Looking back on it, Ginny would never recall the person who spoke against Hermione first but it took no time at all for another to follow.

"Merlin's beard, whoever heard of the Minister's wife helping the likes of _them_ after what they did to us? And Malfoy of all people? Do you know what he did to those poor people at the alienage? Can you imagine all the torment that Justin went through?"

Ernie's voice was the first that Ginny recognized in the din. His pain was poignant – so thick she could taste it.

_Justin...oh, Justin how long has it been since I've thought of you?_

It was true, in a way, what Ernie was saying. Ginny could still recall those days, locked in that horrid place, the way they had leered at her, the way Pansy Parkinson had treated her children-

"My sister is dead because of them!"

The passionate exclamation of the only remaining Patil sister caused Ginny's heart to sink. She couldn't deny Padma's right to shock and bitterness. After all, Ginny had dealt with betrayal, sadness, disbelief, anger and a plethora of other emotions herself…at the beginning.

When had she made peace with the reality?

_I don't know._

Still, something prevented Ginny from rushing to Hermione's defense. Perhaps in spite of it all, resentment never truly went away, lingering always, mixed with love and compassion and forgiveness.

Dean turned to glance at the group scattered behind him in the half-finished room.

"Crikey, we can't bloody stand around! Either way, we've got to do something! We can't let Hermione's betrayal get the best of us! We can't help that she's helping _Malfoy."_

Everyone was silent and the room was silent yet heavy with reprimand aimed at the small remnant of those that bore the Mark and especially Draco Malfoy.

Ginny hung her head, rocking back and forth. The image of Draco's face in the old, abandoned house filled her mind. He had looked so lost.

"He's not like they are!"

Ginny's own words surprised her even as they pierced the silence. Heads turned in her direction.

"So you'll tell us next that he's a good man?" Angelina questioned not hiding her chastisement. "You, after everything you've been through? You, the woman who knows better than anyone here what it was like in those bloody alienages? And you would forgive him those sins?"

Ginny swallowed.

"I won't ever forget the horrors," she replied solemnly. "But neither can I accuse him of being as horrid as the others. He wasn't."

Ginny wasn't aware of the words around her for the voices had run together like a murmuring river of sound. She felt attacked; she felt as if she was being condemned.

"Even if he wasn't how can you defend Hermione's actions? This whole time she's been lying to us and to a man who did nothing but _love_ her!"

Luna's words stung more than they should have and Ginny grew defensive.

"You weren't there, Luna! That alienage was hell on earth but I know that Hermione and Draco sacrificed the biggest part of themselves to save my daughter and no matter how much resentment there is to harbor I won't forget what they did for me! Yes, she made a mistake and yes, she did something deceitful! But you'd all rather trust Blaise Zabini?"

Luna paled as she glared back at Ginny, her chest rising and falling with her erratic breaths. Ginny swallowed back a cacophony of bitter words and paused before speaking.

"Who can blame two people who found solace in a dark world? Look at yourselves! Would you blame anyone else?"

No one replied and the long silence was broken by an uncertain voice.

"So what would you have us do?"

The voice belonged to Cho but it was soon lost in the murmur of the others and swathed in the afternoon shadows. Ginny searched their tense faces.

"Stand against Blaise; I can't prove what happened to Neville has anything to do with him but I know he's involved. I just _know_."

"Must we take sides again so soon after the war? Well, I'll tell you one thing, I won't do it!"

There was a smattering of agreement.

"Zabini's on our side, isn't he? He helped us win that bleeding war! Do you expect us to take a stand against him? We don't even have proof that he had something to do with Longbottom's disappearance!"

The uprising amongst them began to swell but Ginny stood her ground.

"He's only on your side so long as it serves his purposes! Has he not proven that by switching sides during the war? His only master was himself that whole time! Don't let him fool you."

Padma winced.

"Blaise tried to save my sister! I saw it happen that day and I dream about it still! He's a good man and you've always tried to paint him as horrid, haven't you?"

The others glanced at the dark-haired beauty before turning back to face Dean and Ginny.

The red-haired woman felt a bubbling up of frustration and despair as she looked through the group of agitated, tense faces, many of them her long-time friends and companions. These faces were filled with the familiarity of the past – faces she had known and loved, memories she had cherished and wished she could forget. She had fought a war with those around her and nothing had changed. So long as the world existed there would always be opposition.

Before she could speak up in Neville's defense, Dean had stopped his pacing and turned to his companions.

"There aren't many of us right now. I don't know what's happened to Neville or where this madness started. But I know one thing. We can't stand against each other! A house divided will fall."

His dark eyes scanned the crowd.

"We either come together to find Neville or we don't."

Ernie stood.

"Give me proof that Zabini's against us and I'll join you, mate."

Dean remained silent and Angelina's voice rose up from the throng.

"Prove to us that Zabini is what Ginny says he is! Why should we stand with Hermione when she's betrayed us and put us in a position that we're protecting the same men and women who nearly succeeded in wiping out all the Muggle-borns and halfbloods?"

Seamus was gnawing on his lip and finally gave Dean a hard look.

"D'you trust him, mate?"

Dean was silent for a moment as Seamus continued.

"Sure, if you said you wanted us to back him up, I would. I trust you."

There was a murmuring around them even if it was weak and uncertain. Dean took a breath and then faced his comrades.

"We should find Neville. He's the one I trust."

* * *

><p>Hermione dashed through the empty hallways and bare, lonely rooms of the soon-to-be orphanage. The words of her former friends and loved ones rang cruelly in her ears.<p>

They didn't trust her; they didn't want her. They were reluctant to help Neville and it was all her fault! Though the realization was heartbreaking Hermione was driven by only one thought: she would lose her son if she didn't hurry. She would have to think of everything else later.

Pushing aside the pain of her friends and family, she plowed onward.

_I won't lose Leo._

She knew that perhaps she had lost everything else. She was no longer trusted. She was no longer wanted. She had betrayed them; she was a Death Eater's whore. And in the future, Hermione knew she would have to live with the consequences of her actions. Years ago she had been given no choice and in spite of that cruelty and prejudice still existed – on both sides.

_I won't lose Leo._

She refocused her pained thoughts on one thing – getting help.

It had been Blaise all along and they were so quick to trust him! Hermione knew it wasn't fair but now it was too late to worry about the others; they would believe what they wanted and she couldn't change their minds.

_I'll have to find someone else to help me – and I know who!_

The rooms were all alike, one after another. Pale, beige walls with clean, large windows framed beautifully shining hardwood floors. Soon these rooms would be filled with beds and dressers, the sounds of children laughing and talking and the smells coming up from the kitchen where elves would prepare meals.

The world would be a different one for the children of the future but for those that had survived the war-

_I won't think of it! I won't think of them; I'm going to find my son and my husband and…and Draco. _

It was a complicated mess she was in but Hermione had no choice now but to face her past and reconcile it with her future. If that meant facing both Neville and Draco, well, she would do it. She would have to.

She ran around another empty corner and down a corridor before she saw them. They were together as had become habit, their faces drawn and thin. Some of them she didn't recognize; she hadn't ever recognized them. Others she vaguely recalled from other times and other painful places.

_They remind me of myself!_

But it was only one that she was interested in – the one woman who might be able to help her. Hermione broke into a sprint as she neared the group, her eyes searching for only one person. As if she had read her mind, Pansy Parkinson stepped forward her face quizzical.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

A few more breaths and Hermione was able to utter words.

"I-I need your help. Draco, Neville and my son need your help."

She faltered; her voice broke.

"I don't know who else to turn to and who to trust."

Pansy was silent but Hermione could see the sudden flicker or some unknown emotion in her violet eyes. She took Hermione by the elbow gently.

"What's happened?"

Hermione sensed a tension in the other woman's voice that hadn't been there a second earlier. "Will it affect all of us?"

"Neville…Neville removed Blaise from his Ministry post. I'm afraid that something horrible is going to happen if we don't try and stop him."

Pansy paused but Hermione could sense the tiniest flicker of sympathy.

"There are consequences to every choice."

Her voice was strangely weak.

"But Neville made the right one."

Hermione's heart hammered wildly in the silence of the room before she dared to speak once more.

"So you'll help me?"

Pansy's lips were pressed in a thin line but her eyes were steady.

"Protect me and I will."


	74. Chapter 74

_I literally pieced this next part together in tiny bits! And yes, it took a long time. I have almost no free time for writing lately. But anyway, just a warning of character death – though it's just a mention. I only have a few chapters left! All is not what it seems. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR<p>

* * *

><p><em>The Werewolf's Tabernacle<em>

The unnamed man was one of the _wanted_.

That's what Zabini called them, anyway. Even though there wasn't many of _them_ left. Not to mention that Zabini himself had been one of _them_.

_Death Eater._

There was a slight burning against Fenrir's hairy forearm, a ghostly reminder of the past, of the fact that he, too, had been one of _them_. But sometimes it didn't matter what you believed but who you sided with. And hypocrisy didn't matter so long as one survived.

Fenrir was a survivor. All around him, his comrades had fallen. Bloody fools, all of them, fighting for an invisible cause, a whim that could change with the wind. Honor, perseverance, tenacity, steadfastness, loyalty…all that rubbish didn't matter if you didn't _survive_. But Fenrir _had_ survived: that was what mattered in the end. Who you killed, who you crossed, who you betrayed…that would not matter.

It was dark in the alleyway, almost cold here. He moved, dragging the bound, un-named Death Eater along with him. He had stupefied both the child and man so that neither would know what had happened to them.

The child was long gone, Zabini having met Fenrir earlier to take him away.

At first the man had struggled but in the end, he had fallen limply against Fenrir's dirty coat and stopped fighting. After that, dragging him had been easy.

The Tabernacle stood, as if abandoned, between two, run-down brick buildings and there, Fenrir stopped, and tossed the man against the wall, watching his body hit the dirty, damp cement. He stared at his captive for a moment, scrutinizing him, breathing in his scent and memorizing those tiny, unimportant things about him.

That was what hunters did and Fenrir was a _hunter_.

The fallen man reeked of expensive clothing and everything about him, down to the tiny, gold cufflinks on his dirty, white shirt whispered of wealth. Even though he seemed a stranger, there was a familiarity about him and it unnerved Fenrir to the point of madness.

_He is a Death Eater; surely at some point we knew each other! But who is he? _

There was no familiarity about the longish, dirty hair or the angular face. There had been no familiarity in that strangled, soft voice.

Fenrir gazed into the other man's eyes, blazing behind black, wire-rim glasses. There it was! Surely, if there was any knowledge, any manner by which to know the truth would it not be written in one's eyes?

The half-wolf looked closer.

"Do I know you?"

There was a flicker of contempt in his gray eyes; it was something the fallen man could not hide. Fenrir licked his cracked lips and bent closer, giving the other man a swift, hard kick.

"Are you deaf, boy? Do I know you?"

The unnamed man kicked Fenrir in the shin and while he did so the material of his dirty, linen shirt rode up on his forearm. And that's when Fenrir saw it. He gasped and let go, pulling away as sudden recognition painted his face. There, right next to his faded Mark, was a glaring scar that any wolf would have recognized.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed with glee.

Sweat trickled down Neville's clammy face.

The room was dark – oppressively so – and the shadows only revealed the steady, relentless pacing of Blaise Zabini.

For those few, precious seconds everything was silent but then just as it had been before, Lavender's painful screams pierced what would have been blessed silence.

And Neville closed his weary eyes, praying for that silence to return.

The mark on Malfoy's upper arm was a few inches long and the faded scars seemed to be glaringly obvious even along the paleness of dirty flesh.

Malfoy began to kick out at the wolf, trying to struggle away even though it was obvious that the curse that he was currently under was making him feel as weary as the world. Still he would not go down without a fight. Being recognized seemed to be the spark that had brought him back to life.

Fenrir stared hungrily at the faded scar along Malfoy's pale arm, the teeth marks – his own teeth marks – as clear as day. Suddenly he was assaulted by broken, faded memories.

_I would have had that bushy, know-it-all Mudblood bitch! I nearly had her while I was a Snatcher! How did she get away from me twice? Why had Malfoy helped her? That imbecile Flint had been right this whole time!_

The Ministry had fallen that day and she had gotten away from him – so close – and yet...

For a few moments Fenrir took great pleasure in the sport of struggling with Malfoy but soon enough he grew tired of it. Just as Malfoy kicked at him with newfound viciousness, the half-wolf pulled out his wand.

"Stupefy!" he grunted.

Malfoy lay still and for a moment Fenrir gazed down on him curiously. Then he hoisted Malfoy on his shoulder with a laugh.

"Plans have changed," he decided. After all there were no true allegiances – only survival. "And I have plans for you, boy. You'll be my perfect bait."

* * *

><p>Blaise was watching Neville with interest.<p>

"How long must she suffer before you cave, Minister?"

Lavender's screams could be heard from the next room and Neville, through the haze of weariness and fear, wondered what was happening to her beyond his vision.

"I…will n-not-"

"Proud, are you?" interrupted Blaise. Neville could see the flash of hatred in his dark eyes under the light of his glowing wand. "Your pride will be everyone's undoing."

Neville refused to look at Zabini any longer and moved his head almost motionlessly.

"I am…only doing…the r-right thing."

"By letting her die?" scoffed Zabini.

"It is you who is doing that to her," Neville replied.

Zabini only laughed over the sound of Lavender's tortured screams.

* * *

><p>Hermione breathed in the scent of cooling air and the distant stench of rubbish. The alleyway was shadowed and the broken, cobbled walkway beyond it looked uninviting. She wasn't sure if her surroundings were truly uninviting or if it was the position she was in – the losses she felt – that were causing such an impression.<p>

Pansy was moving quickly ahead of her, head held low yet still graceful as she moved across the large cracks and uneven pavements.

"Hurry," she whispered as she turned another, countless corner.

Hermione followed quickly, nearly stumbling over one of the larger cracks in the uneven cobbled walkway. The buildings around them were run down and crumbling as if time had forgotten and abandoned them. Only a handful of human souls littered the distant walkways and very few automobiles passed on the nearby Muggle streets.

Pansy took another turn and they slipped through another shadowed walkway towards Diagon Alley. Hermione looked about as they slipped through the brick wall and onto the tiny street lined with shops and cafes.

The newly-formed Ministry had breathed life back into the tiny, cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. What Voldemort's Ministry had killed, Neville had brought back. Proprietors had returned and business had been reborn. The memory of war would not be forgotten but it was human nature to move on and life never stopped.

The wizarding world was alive once more.

But Knockturn Alley was a different story altogether.

Hermione stopped, a sigh escaping her, as Pansy nodded towards another, narrower, broken path. For a reason she did not know, the long-ago night of the Lestrange's anniversary party replayed in her mind– especially the feeling that had washed over her the moment she had stepped into the posh, London hotel.

On _that_ night she had realized how easy it was to forget that luxury had still existed in a world where she had known nothing but misery and poverty. On _this _day and Hermione's first glimpse of Knockturn Alley, she was struck by the fact that she had forgotten what misery looked like because she had gotten used to the luxuries of life.

The irony was not lost on her.

Here, the streets were rundown and empty and the shops were abandoned and left to decay. Neville's Ministry had cracked down on illegal activities and many of the proprietors had been given little choice but to close up shop. Here and there were still flickers of life and Hermione spied a tiny, dirty-looking pub on one corner and the old storefront of what had once been Borgin and Burkes.

Pansy stopped there and pointed towards a building on the next corner.

"There," she whispered.

Hermione followed Pansy's gaze to a wood and brick building that stood nearly across from Borgin and Burkes. It looked deserted and the rotting, wooden sign that hung over the top of the door was faded and illegible.

"That's Greyback's lair. If he still has your son, he will be there."

Hermione's heart rattled for a moment and then she grew steely with determination.

"It looks abandoned."

Pansy shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"That's how he would want it, I reckon. I used to spend loads of time in there. Back in the day it was a pretty busy pub. The wench who owned it had a thing for Greyback. When the old Ministry still existed most of the higher rank officials would be there. Astoria too…because of…Flint."

Hermione's gaze was momentarily torn away from the building and the two women stared at one another in silence. Shocks of recollection ran through Hermione as she thought of the snowy morning she had murdered Marcus Flint. There were only flashes now – flashes of emotion, desperation and fear.

She recalled the expression on Astoria's face the last time she had seen her, Flint's dismissive attitude and the way he had rushed to Pansy's-

"Flint was a horrid man," she choked out.

Pansy's lips were pressed together into a thin line.

"He was complicated."

The breeze picked up slightly sending strands of Pansy's dark hair to dancing. She pushed them behind her ear.

"I think sometimes it takes a lifetime for some realizations. And by then it is too late."

Hermione could not read the expression in Pansy's violet-colored eyes but the pain there was shades deeper than any other emotion. She wanted to ask what Pansy was thinking. In the end, Hermione didn't have to.

"Voldemort's Ministry had a way of…"

Pansy was looking away from Hermione, down the abandoned street and towards something that was not there.

"It had a way of eating away at…everything good."

Hermione started.

_Like a cancer, Draco had said._

"Maybe I should have noticed Flint cared."

Hermione frowned.

"For you?"

"More than I thought," she muttered. "Probably more than I will ever know. But I didn't notice; I had decided I wouldn't. It was the worst thing I could have done. My desperation, my need for something out of my reach made me blind. Fenrir took advantage of that; he takes advantage of everything."

* * *

><p>Draco came to just as Greyback kicked at him once more. He struggled to sit up, against the cries of his battered body.<p>

_Where am I?_

Even the backs of his eyes hurt as he opened them.

The room was small and oppressive. Two windows let in the bleary light through dirty, grease-smeared panes. All around him Draco could see the faint outlines of disused chairs and tables shoved into the far corners. Other than that nothing else occupied the dusty space. The room was stuffy and smelled faintly of must and unwashed flesh.

"Greyback!"

Draco heard his own voice – weak and uncertain – and he cursed inwardly.

There was a soft scuffling sound and then a form rose out of the shadows, scraggly hair making strange shadows along the crumbling, brick walls.

"Malfoy," said Fenrir.

As he stepped into the filmy light Draco could see his gleeful smile.

"I never thought I'd see you again. But the pleasure is mine."

"Doubtful."

"Ah, but how wrong you are!"

Greyback's laughter filled the room causing Draco's blood to run cold. As the man wolf leaned in, there was the scent of decay and filth.

"You couldn't be more wrong. I am so _happy_ to see you!"

Draco held his breath to keep from gagging and leaned away from Greyback even though he had very little room to move. The wolf kept coming with that same, unnerving smile.

"It has been a long time that I've hoped to get you in a more…_compromising_ position."

Draco said nothing and Greyback finally pulled away, studying the bound man with interest.

"Did you know Zabini's been looking for you? Everyone believed you were dead but he just pressed on. They thought he was mad but he was right! Here you are."

Draco flinched.

"Oh, yes," continued the wolf. "He's been searching for a long time. It's been…a strange mission of his to eradicate _you_ and the rest of the Death Eater filth from the _hypocritical_ face of the wizarding world."

Greyback threw back his head to laugh, his words tinged with amusement.

"Can you imagine, Malfoy? A man trying to eradicate his own kind? Now, that's never happened, has it?"

The meaning was not lost on Draco.

_Voldemort._

Greyback had stopped laughing.

"You'll fetch a pretty penny, I reckon," he murmured hungrily. "There's not that many of you left. And especially because he has given up looking for you. And here you are!"

After a moment of tense silence Draco finally found his voice.

"_You're_ one of us! So is he!"

Greyback chuckled this time, shaking his head.

"That's the beauty of hypocrisy. It lends itself to many exceptions."

Draco shifted against his bonds with a frustrated groan.

"If he wants Death Eaters then he can have them! Why go after Hermione and the boy?"

Greyback's lingering smile widened with anticipation.

"Ah, so love has reared its ugly head? Such hero talk! Do you think _you_ can save her?"

He was watching Draco curiously.

"You're no fool and you must know love _never_ wins. Especially not the sort of love you think you feel. After all, in the end you were nothing more than a Death Eater Official fucking a Mudblood whore. We all know it – deep down inside you know it too. And that boy is your son and he will grow old with the stain of having had a Death Eater for a father. Is that what you want, Malfoy?"

Draco began to struggle defiantly against his magical shackles, wanting nothing more than to rip Fenrir Greyback apart, piece by piece, for the smugness in his voice and the glee on his face.

"We all know how it is. We were all there at one point; there were so many of those worthless, desperate women – each one more delicious than the last…"

Draco kicked out at Greyback with one, violent motion, making the bearded man laugh more.

"Shame on you, Malfoy. Allowing such a prestigious woman to defile herself with you while married to our honorable Minister?"

Draco remained silent, not playing into Greyback's hands. The wolf leered at him.

"Will you not defend yourself?"

Silence answered.

"All this time? I remember how you broke your little, Mudblood whore out of the Ministry dungeons; I remember how you got away from me. Don't you? That bite on your arm…"

Both men looked down at the faint scar on Draco's arm, just above the stain of his Mark.

"The whore didn't know, did she? She didn't know you were alive. She married another man and all this time…"

Greyback looked at Draco sharply, one scarred lip twisting up in a half-smile.

"Stop playing games, Greyback! My life is my life! If Zabini wants me, he can have me! Why does he need Hermione?"

Greyback watched him as a tense silence unfurled between them.

"Why? Haven't you figured it out? Our brilliant ex-commander has decided he wants it all. That Mudblood whore is the ticket to breaking Minister Longbottom."

* * *

><p>The silence was deafening; Lavender had stopped screaming.<p>

Neville felt his leaden feet as he was dragged across the room and through a small, stone entryway where he squinted against a sudden bout of milky light. But when he opened his eyes to look around he found himself wishing he hadn't.

Lavender's body lay on the dirty ground, splayed out obscenely. She did not move; she was dead.

Zabini gave Neville a shove forward.

"See what you did?"

The hiss was more animal-like than human and it made Neville shuddered.

"N-never. I didn't do anything."

"You!" Zabini raged. "Because you are a pig-headed, stupid oaf of a man!"

Neville closed his weary, watering eyes and refused to say anything.

"I would have given her to Fenrir; he wanted her…even so long ago in Paddington…"

Zabini's voice had taken on a strange, nostalgic note.

Neville felt the other man pull him back so that he couldn't move and he felt breath against his neck.

"But I wanted to know how far I would have to push you, Minister. How many more people will die before you give me what I want, hmm? Lavender now but who later? Your wife? That bastard boy you call your son?"

Neville shuddered as Zabini leaned closer.

"Do you even know that he's Malfoy's son? Did she ever tell you? Offspring of a Death Eeater! I was there. I know that man was as desperate as I was…and she fancied him! I bet she'd leave you in a blink if she knew her precious Death Eater official was still alive…you got lucky, didn't you, Minister?"

Neville closed his eyes against the flood of emotion at the truths that Zabini was speaking to him. Perhaps death would be a blessing…

* * *

><p>After her admissions about Marcus Flint, Pansy had fallen silent. There had been no words exchanged between the two women for some time. Hermione felt herself shudder and she wasn't sure if it was the breeze or her hidden fears causing the icy grip around her heart.<p>

She finally dared to speak knowing that she had to move forward, that she had a purpose now and that was to save her son.

"What happens now? Will…will Zabini be there?" she asked in a whisper. "My son? Draco?"

Pansy was unmoving.

"I don't know," she whispered.

The name made Hermione's blood run cold.

"W-what?"

"I _told_ you, this is Fenrir's lair."

"But, I-"

Pansy gave Hermione a look of seriousness.

"I brought you here because Fenrir doesn't take sides," she said her voice uncertain. "He will do what's best for him and to hell with everyone else. Don't you know? He served Voldemort because he wanted to be on the winning side but as soon as saw the tides change he suddenly joined forces with Zabini. Zabini! The same man he had been hunting while under Voldemort's service. Fenrir doesn't know what loyalty is."

Hermione was silent as Pansy continued with obvious hesitation.

"He worked for me back when the old Ministry still existed. He did as I asked so long as I…"

She shook her head but it did nothing to make the disgusting memories fade. For a moment she stood holding her breath and then she released it in a rush.

"Fenrir never did anything without benefit to himself."

Her voice was thick with revulsion and it caused Hermione to shudder as she thought of all those men in the alienage and the things she had heard that they were capable of. She thought of Lavender.

Her heart constricted as she took a breath.

"You think he'll help us?"

Pansy smiled sadly.

"I wouldn't call it help," she replied. "But if we offer him something he wants more than what Blaise has offered him…"

She pushed at the door it opened with great effort and a moaning creak.

"If he wants me, I am willing," Hermione stated suddenly.

The words fell from her lips in the dusty silence and she was horrified at hearing them. So many years ago she had offered herself in a similar way to Draco Malfoy to save a child. She would do it again if it meant saving her own son. She would have to.

_Has nothing changed?_

Pansy moved forward without replying and she looked around the empty room.

"The cellar," she said decidedly.

The women moved towards the door along the back wall.

* * *

><p>Draco stared at Greyback.<p>

"What's Longbottom got to do…?"

Then, he knew, his realization stopping his words.

He believed all those things Hermione had whispered to him; he believed now that Neville had been in danger and that Blaise's fixation had become an obsession.

Greyback was smiling.

"Now you understand?"

"No, I don't, actually. Neville is the Minister for Magic; they wouldn't have given him the post if he were crap, would they?"

Greyback cocked his hairy head.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, at least not to me. What _does_ matter is that our former Commander of the Alliance would like his post back – by force, if necessary."

Draco swallowed hard.

"So it was Blaise this whole time?"

Greyback shrugged.

"Eh, well, he had his whore of a wife to help him. Though I reckon by she's served her purpose. He's offered her to me."

There was a heavy silence and Draco tore his eyes away from the man wolf for a long while, shocked at the situation he had found himself in and the smile that had formed on Greyback's crusted lips.

"What do you get out of this?" Draco asked, choking back his bile. His words of revulsion were veiled by contempt.

"I get to survive, Malfoy. I get to prosper and continue living if I so choose despite who I am and the things I've done. When this new Ministry eradicates all the remaining Death Eaters, I'll get to live because I served Zabini. And that's all that matters in the end."

He leaned in so that Draco gagged once more on the stench of rot that seemed to cling to him. Before the wolf could continue there a sound issued from the shadows around them. And then the voice.

"How long do you intend to live and breathe, Fenrir? Especially when Blaise tires of you and what you can offer him?"

The voice was cool but it held the unmistakable tone of someone in charge. Draco nearly wept because he knew that voice – he knew-

_Pansy._

A wave of shock washed over Draco for he had never expected to her voice again.

Fenrir whirled in surprised just in time to see Pansy Parkinson step into the weak light, her face pale even in the dusty shadows. The wolf man lifted his wand in glee.

"How long, dear girl? For as _long_ as I _can_."

Pansy felt the sharpness of his gaze as he regarded her for a few moments, lifting one lip in a mocking smile.

"Fancy a duel, Commander Parkinson?" he mocked, lifting his wand. "Tsk, tsk, tsk…where is your wand? My, how the mighty have fallen."

He advanced towards the dark-haired woman menacingly, as if more wolf than man but if he had wished Pansy to cower he would have been disappointed for she stood tall and unmoving.

Greyback aimed his wand just as a flash lit up the far side of the room.

"Expelliarmus!"

Hermione charged behind Pansy, swiftly following the red light that had issued from the tip of her outstretched wand.

Greyback, taken by surprise, stumbled backwards and the disarming spell him head on, sending his wand flying into a pile of dusty wooden boxes stacked up against the most distant wall of the cellar. He was on his hands and knees in a split second, crawling like a hairy crab towards where his wand had fallen.

Hermione advanced on him, casting well-placed curses so the cellar was filled with blinding flashes of light. Greyback struggled for his wand just as Hermione cast a binding charm. The half-wolf struggled violently against his bindings, letting out all manner of expletives and spitting towards Hermione in his rage.

"Stupefy!"

The thrashing stopped in an instant and the silence that followed was so startling it seemed to make Hermione's ears ache. Breathing heavily she dashed across the room to where Pansy was kneeling by Draco's side.

"Draco," she half-moaned, breathless from shock at seeing him in such a state.

His face was covered with purplish bruises and his face was a mask of pain. Draco did not have a chance to reply.

"Help me," Pansy interrupted, rousing Hermione from her paralysis.

She waved her trembling wand and Draco was loosed from his magical bonds and reached out to both women. Hermione could hardly find her breath.

"Where is Leo?"

Her unwavering gaze of pleading locked with Draco's.

Pansy stood, looking towards the fallen werewolf and no one noticed the hint of pain that crossed her face.

"Blaise…Blaise has him. He's using us- using the people…the ones closest to Neville to get him to give up the Ministry position."

Draco was weak; he could hardly speak. Hermione felt the overwhelming need to cradle him for a moment and then whisk him away to somewhere safe where she wouldn't have to worry about him any more.

She simply didn't have the time. Leo…

"Where is Zabini?"

"There…there could be…many places. If…if he is hiding where he used to-"

Pansy spoke from behind them, pulling Hermione's shoulder forward urgently.

"Wake Fenrir; he will know."

Hermione stood, turning to face the other woman.

"Are you mental?" she hissed.

"He will know," Pansy said again. "Blaise trusts him; Merlin knows how this happened and whatever this unholy union is, Fenrir will know."

Hermione hesitated for a moment and Pansy reached out.

"I'll do it," she said nodding towards the only wand in the room, still gripped in Hermione's fingers.

Moments later, she was kneeling by Greyback's fallen body and claiming his wand as her own.

"Enervate," she whispered and almost instantaneously Fenrir was blinking.

"Wha-"

"Where is Blaise?"

"You bitch," hissed the wolf, struggling with the strength he had left. Draco pinned him down to further bind him.

"Where is he?"

There was only a strange, solemn smile on Greyback's cracked lips.

"I'll murder you, I swear!"

There was no fear in Pansy's voice; there was no hesitation and nothing was left to doubt. She held the tip of her wand against his dirty, scruffy neck. There was a flare of indignation in the depths of Greyback's blue eyes. But the sound that gurgled up from his tightened throat was laughter.

"You wouldn't dare because you _need_ me."

The wand in Pansy's hand trembled with her rage.

"Tell me!"

"Just like you've always needed me, eh, Poppet? Needed me to help you get Draco. Needed me in bed-"

Pansy let out a howl of outrage and the sound of wand against flesh was a loud crack in the silence of the room. Greyback's strange laughter did not cease.

"I swear to God and on everything you've ever believed in that I'll kill you!" Pansy shrieked in anger.

The wolf watched her for a moment and then shook his head.

"He _wants_ you to come," he rasped. "All of you; it is only a matter of time. He is hiding near to where his old alienage once stood, on the west side of the city. That's where he has your Minister and that bratty child."

The silence that followed his pronouncement was profound as the trio gazed at each other breathlessly for a few seconds. Pansy backed away from Greyback, her eyes widening.

"I know where!"

"We have to hurry!" Hermione said in reply already moving towards the door that led up to the street.

"I wager you've gotten what you came for, yes? Let me go, Poppet."

Pansy stared at Greyback, resentment and horror welling up from within a heart she had forgotten she possessed. She shook with anger and despair and her wand would not lower.

"You ruined so many of us," she muttered from behind clenched teeth. "We spent our days pretending everything was fine because that's what they wanted us to do! But we were just as bad off as…"

She shook her head and Greyback smirked.

"You never did anything you didn't want to."

"I never wanted-"

"You were the fool girl who went after Malfoy – a man who never wanted you! You were too blind to see your own self-destruction and now you blame it on me, yeah?"

Pansy fell silent though her violet eyes flashed with hatred.

"You came to me and I simply took advantage, my dear. None of your failings were ever my fault. I simply offered you something that you thought you wanted in return for all the favors you chose to grant me."

"You're a self-serving, selfish, manipulative-"

"And you were more than willing to do ask I wanted."

White-faced, Pansy turned to her companions.

"Go."

The word was full of regret - a single, raspy plea, as if she were drowning with no hope of salvation.

"Pans-"

But she would not let even Draco interrupt.

"Go! Hurry, Draco, you know where. Hermione will help you. I promised her I would help her find her son and I won't go back on that promise."

Her eyes were almost black in the dim light but they spoke more than her words did. There was no room for argument.

Hermione locked eyes with Pansy and the woman standing between her and the werewolf gave an imperceptible nod.

_Go._

Hermione swallowed her indecision and then grabbed Draco's hand. With heavy hearts they rushed up the stairs leaving Pansy behind with Greyback.

She stood listening to their footsteps fade away and then looked down to face her living nightmare. A knowing smile lingered on his cracked, dirty lips.

"Even now you could murder me…but you won't, will you?"

The challenge hung between the woman and fallen man.

"Back then I had a hold on you and now-"

Pansy lifted the wand and her face was steely with determination.

"You'll _never_ have a hold on anyone again, you sick bastard."

* * *

><p>Neither Hermione nor Draco saw the faint flash of green but at the same time a scream seemed to come from the distance. It stopped them in their tracks. Nothing on the street moved for a few moments as Hermione and Draco stared at one another.<p>

"Where is she?" Draco dared to ask, looking back towards the Tabernacle.

"We can't stay here. There's Leo to think about…Neville…"

The wind picked up in the abandoned alleyway but the seconds offered only the dredges of despair. Hermione turned to look also, once…twice…and then a third time only to find the street just as empty as it had been moments before.

Pansy was not coming and the moment was almost painful.

"We can't just leave her-"

Draco reached out to clasp his pale, shaking fingers around Hermione's small hands.

"She's strong. If…"

Neither spoke what they suspected.

"We have to go; you know where Blaise is, don't you? I'll help you."

Lowering his head in defeat he nodded and they stood in the middle of the street swathed in silence.

Hermione held her breath as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, praying that Pansy join them. A second went by and then another and with those moments all hope that Pansy had survived.

Could she be dead?

"Are you ready?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Let's go."

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, there was a voice.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Blaise stood across the street, wand pointed at them and a mocking smile on his mouth.


	75. Chapter 75

_Since Halloween is upon us once again I'm going to do a bit of self-promotion and tell you all to go read 'D is for Draco' just for a light, slightly funny (if I do say so myself) story that gets everyone in a Halloween-y mood…if you haven't already. It's on my author's page. I'm quite proud of it and it was written last year for GE's Samhain challenge. Ready, set, read! LOL. Oh and here's another update! This is my longest chapter yet so at least I've given you more, right? After this there's only one chapter left – that, or I will split it in two. We will see. A warning that this section contains character death. Hope you all enjoy! _

_L Cailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE<p>

* * *

><p><em>Western London<em>

Hermione awoke.

She struggled to sit up and found that she was able to move her hands and feet quite easily. At first she was unaware of what had happened; she was floating on a sea of nothingness. The sweet relief only lasted another moment before Hermione's pained memories crashed against the edges of her mind.

Pansy's words…Fenrir's laugh…the way she had attacked him…

And then, finally, Blaise's triumphant smile as her defensive curse had failed…

_Where am I? Why didn't he kill me?  
><em>

She jumped from the sofa and dashed across the room to the small wooden door on the opposite side. Her heart beat wildly in anticipation but of course she knew it would be locked and her hand clamped down on the brass knob in frustration.

Giving up Hermione turned, pressing her back against the door to survey her surroundings. The room was most definitely a prison but very much unlike the ones she had experienced in years past. It was small and had no windows and only a sofa and chair opposite a tiny fireplace that glowed with the last faint embers of a previous fire. A mirror hung above the marbled mantle and a vase decorated a small table that sat in front of the sofa.

It reminded Hermione of an austere, sparsely decorated hotel room.

There was no room to hide and no place where one could put their belongings. There were no other doors leading out of the small space. She was a prisoner.

As she stared down at the worn wooden floor and the glorious Turkish rug that lay centered between the sofa and fireplace, frustration began to resonate within Hermione. She wrapped her arms around her thin shoulders and began to pace.

Her steps were slow at first and then they increased as fury took over. Within minutes she was raging from corner to corner, angry and determined to somehow escape – no matter what the odds were. Now was not the time to think of Neville or Draco; now the only thing that mattered was Leo.

_Pansy got me this far! Now I'm on my own!_

She rushed towards the door once more, yanking on the doorknob as hard as she could, as if her sheer strength would open it. Of course, she was still locked.

_Wand less magic! I must know something…_

Closing her eyes, Hermione searched the memory banks of her mind hoping to come up with something useful. But either the despair had clouded her thinking or there simply was nothing because in the end she came up empty.

With a cry of frustration, Hermione kicked the door and then began to jiggle the knob back and forth in her rage.

"Hush, Hermione."

It was a muffled, soft female voice and it stopped Hermione in her tracks.

"W-what?" she rasped in shock.

"You must hush."

Heart hammering, Hermione pressed herself against the door.

"W-who are you? Open this door! Please, open this door!"

"He'll hear you."

There was no movement on the other side even as Hermione strained to hear something. The voice held a faint familiarity though she could not quite place where she had heard it before. Tears of sheer relief flooded her vision.

"Please," she whispered this time, struggling for a calm she didn't feel. "Please, let me out. I must get to my son!"

She grabbed for the doorknob once more and her sweat-slippery hand couldn't quite grip it. As she held onto the brass tightly Hermione felt the knob shift and the scraping sound of a key within it. She let go with a whimper and then watched as the door creaked open slowly.

Padma Patil stood framed in the doorway, standing in an empty, heavily carpeted hallway.

"Oh, my God! Padma!"

The words fell from Hermione's lips as she threw herself into the arms for her former schoolmate. She was so relieved to seen a familiar face that she was trembling. Even though Padma was gently trying to extricate herself from Hermione's tight embrace, the other woman refused to let go. They stood in the hallway, illuminated only by the flickering of candles in the sconces on the walls. When Hermione pulled away she noted the deep lines along Padma's coffee-colored skin.

"What's he done to you?" she whispered with sympathy.

Padma only stared, an unreadable expression in her inky black eyes.

"Nothing," she whispered.

"What's he got you prisoner for? You have to help me! We can escape together; I have to find my son and then we can escape! He's got Neville and D-draco-"

Padma shook her head.

"He won't hurt them."

Hermione's heart stopped in shock at Padma's matter-of-fact admission. Her mind whirled violently.

"Padma, he's insane," she whispered.

"No, he's not the way you think he is."

When Hermione tried to step back, shaking her head in disbelief, Padma pulled out her wand.

"Don't move."

* * *

><p>Blaise was pacing.<p>

The sound of his booted feet against the smooth cement floor was soothing.

His eyes were half-closed and he moved as if he were in a trace. The reality was that Blaise wished to forget the innocent, gray eyes of Draco Malfoy's son. Even a thought of the little boy imprisoned in the room below the one Blaise was in now was enough to drown him in guilt – an emotion that was alien to him for he had forgotten his conscience long ago.

He wondered why it was that particular boy – Draco's offspring with a whore – that made him feel guilt.

Could it have been the thought of his daughter, Daisy? Was it the loss of his marriage and a wife he had willingly thrown away?

Or was it the fact that no matter how Blaise had tried, he hadn't been able to _break_ the little boy.

_What sort of boy could possess such strength?_

The boy had asked for food; Blaise had withheld it.

The boy had asked for his parents, asking both for the bitch and the Minister; Blaise had refused to answer his questions.

_I hafta pee. You gotta let me pee, don't you?_

The question hadn't even been one of pleading – it had been almost a demand.

_He should have been terrified and there he was, demanding me! Me, the man who ought to be more powerful than-_

Blaise had tried to humiliate the child, making him go in his trousers, and forcing him to wallow in his own filth. The small cell had reeked of urine and still the boy had not faltered. There had been no tears, no screaming nor crying.

An hour's time had passed and Blaise found himself moving back to the narrow stone stairway that led down to the boy's cell. He was still standing in the same place, clutching the metal rungs of his tiny prison.

"Look at you, boy. You're filthy and disgusting."

Nothing flickered in the boy's large, grey eyes.

"I want my Mama."

There it was again – not a request but almost a demand – and from a boy merely six years old!

Blaise studied the child with contempt.

"Your Mama is filthy, just like you are, boy. Did you know that?"

The boy said nothing, his eyes growing wider.

"She's a filthy whore. Do you know what a whore is?"

The boy blinked.

"Where is Daddy Neville?"

Blaise offered a nasty smile.

"Do you know that your Mama doesn't even love your Daddy Neville?" he mocked.

There it was; there was a tremble to the boy's lip – a crack in his seemingly strong will. Blaise continued.

"When it comes down to it she would rather save a no good Death Eater bastard. She wasn't as worried about you and your Daddy as she was about saving the life of the man she's cheating with. Did you know that?"

The boy watched Blaise, his lower lip sticking out slightly and his eyes suddenly swimming with uncertainty.

"You were going to find out eventually, boy. I'm going to tell you now. Neville's not your real father. Your father is a Death Eater."

The boy gripped the metal bars of his prison.

"No!" he stated emphatically. It was the first word he had spoken since Blaise had begun to torment him.

"Alas, it is true."

"You're a liar and I don't hafta listen to you!" the little boy yelled.

* * *

><p>Hermione was frozen in the middle of the candlelit hallway, completely at Padma's mercy. The dark-skinned woman pointed her wand forward.<p>

"Lumos," she whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out and then Padma gave her a soft push.

"That way," she urged, pointing her illuminated wand down the east side of the hallway. Hermione felt herself being steered forward and walked in front of Padma in a robotic fashion.

"This is insane," she found herself whispering, wishing her voice didn't sound so…loud. She feared that somehow Blaise was in control of Padma.

_She must be Imperioused!_

A sliver of doubt pierced Hermione's heart.

_But what if she's not? What if this is her choice and she's willingly following that…that-_

The hallway ended and they moved through a small door into another hallway. This one sloped downwards and there were no carpets there. It was cooler as if they were moving underground.

"Padma, please…"

"He wouldn't hurt you."

"You don't know him! He's evil…he's…he's…"

Suddenly Hermione felt Padma pull on her long, dark robe.

"Stop."

Hermione complied, lowering her head and waiting. She felt Padma's footsteps moving around her, stopping just in front of her. Cautiously, she looked up to see a deeply saddened look on the other woman's face.

Padma looked ancient.

"Hermione, I know you probably hate me."

"No, I could never hate you! It was you and all the other members of the Alliance that helped people like me…Muggle-borns, I mean."

There was a long silence and Hermione could feel Padma's tension.

"That's right, the Alliance."

"Padma…I-"

Padma interrupted Hermione's faltering words by grabbing her hand and squeezing tightly.

"Everyone looked at me like I was betraying them, like I was betraying Neville, but…I couldn't just abandon Blaise! He's the reason the Alliance won the war! Without him surely we would have failed!"

Hermione lifted her head and her eyes flickered over Padma's expression. There was nothing there to indicate that she was under any curse or other spell. Could it be?

_She's simply showing loyalty to a man she believes helped protect her all those years. And he did. That's just the problem; people change and Blaise is no longer that man! But how to convince her?  
><em>

Taking a deep breath, the curly-haired woman shook her head.

"I know how you feel; I know what it feels like to stand alone, Padma."

Padma offered a sigh.

"Do you? I abandoned my friends. They all…"

She shuddered and her grip loosed a touch.

"All those years in Paddington were the worst of my life. But having Lavender and Parvati with me…it made things better. Blaise loved Lavender; he loved his daughter. He protected us while we were living in that flat. I know it; he's not awful…he's not the way they say he is!"

In spite of her choked whispers, Padma managed to sound passionate.

Hermione's eyes flooded with burning tears.

"He tried…he tried to murder my husband," she choked out. "He's destroyed his own wife and abandoned his daughter. And just…just now, just…b-before he brought me here he tried to…"

Hermione's soft sobbing filled the room.

* * *

><p>Hermione was gone.<p>

Draco had fallen to his knees, his whole body aching, his eyes burning with the bright green light of the Killing Curse he had nearly succumbed to.

And what did it matter? What did it matter that Hermione had saved him yet again? Did he want to live and breathe if she was not at his side?

So close…they had been so close to confronting Blaise and yet…he had been one step ahead. Tears of anger and shame burned behind his closed eyelids. Once more he could see the horrific scene before him.

Blaise had attacked first; Hermione had pushed Draco out of the way, casting a defensive spell around them. There had been a burst of brilliant color as both spells collided in the middle of the abandoned street. Blaise had attacked again and Hermione had grabbed Draco's hand, telling him to go…go…

She had saved him yet again and he had run.

Why?

Why had he run? Why had he been so weak?

Draco shook with anger as he worked to gather breath into the tightness of his lungs. His head swam from exhaustion and pain. He could still see Hermione's pale, white face and the determination in the depths of her eyes – eyes that had gone dark and hard.

_Go…go…he should only have one of us. If he has us both it's over. Go..._

She had been right; she was always right, Draco knew.

Standing up straight he was able to push through the swell of pain and dizziness for a moment so that he could see clearly. Now he was more alone than he had been in a long time. On the run from the Alliance, Draco had clung to the hope that he might find Hermione again. Having found her he had also found his heart and his family.

And now it had all been taken from him.

_She's been trying to save me this whole, bloody time! The least thing I can do is return that favor._

He looked towards the alleyway leading away from Knockturn Alley. Then he turned towards the Tabernacle.

Nothing stirred.

He knew he didn't have a wand and surely didn't have much time – but he would do anything to save Hermione. And if he didn't he would die trying.

* * *

><p>They ran out of the abandoned, brick building, holding their wands aloft.<p>

"Nothing!" Terry Boot called out and Dean's face fell a fraction. "I reckon it's been abandoned for a long time."

As Terry moved away, towards the rest of the Alliance remnant, Dean turned from the group, hiding his growing concern.

"Bloody balls!"

Seamus had been standing too close and he heard Dean's soft curse.

"Mate, listen-"

Dean stopped him with a vicious swipe of his hand.

"Don't. If Lee were still alive, he'd know where Blaise has gone! Crikey but I'm a fool to think that I could-"

Dean glanced at Seamus with a pained expression.

"Somehow I've been sodding stuck being the leader of this group and I'm sending them on a wild chase! And every moment we waste means that Neville might die and I can't fucking do this anymore!"

Seamus knew that if he grew agitated with his friend things would only get worse. He willed himself to be calm.

"Look, all of us are in this together, and we'll find him."

Dean stared at Seamus with reproach.

"Lor love a duck! Are you mental? Did you see how many of our former Alliance walked out of that orphanage this morning when I merely suggested we go after Blaise? He's not stupid, Seamus and at one time…he was the only hope we had and people won't forget that."

He hung his head, hands clenched together.

"And the rest of us still can't understand why one of our own…why Hermione-"

He stopped, shaking his head.

"There's too much division and too many people looking in different directions. I told you, a house divided will fall. We _will_ fail."

Seamus glared at Dean.

"Stop this! We can't fail! I sodding put my life and future on the line here and I won't let you give up on us!"

The tension was thick and the others that were in the group, those who could hear only snippets of the argument, grew uncertain and frightened.

"Oi, Dean, where to now?" questioned Ernie, his pale face quizzical.

"Give me a moment," Dean replied firmly.

But he didn't feel firm; he felt like he was drowning and no one could save him. Seamus shoved a wrinkled map into his hand and lifted his wand over it to offer light in the fading afternoon.

"He's one man in a whole city!" Dean bemoaned. "And we've got no time."

There was a crack from behind them. For a moment the air shifted and then Ginny stood between the two men, her eyes shining and her voice breathlessly.

"I know where he is."

The air churned around them signaling a storm to come.

"Merlin's beard, Gin," Dean whispered, his mouth going dry.

"But you have to trust me."

Her face was flushed from exertion but there was no mistaking the look of determination that lingered there.

Dean stepped back.

"Look, if this is dangerous we've got more than enough people to help."

"No, it's not that…"

She motioned behind her to the woman that neither man had noticed.

"It's her."

Dean stared, his face frozen in surprise.

"I thought we agreed there would be no Death Eaters-"

Ginny shook her head.

"Stop this, Dean. We have to work together if we're going to find Neville and Hermione and you know it. Take the help!"

The dark-haired woman looked up, her violet eyes flickering with dark emotions she would never be able to speak of. He hadn't know her in school; he didn't know her now.

"So?" he said tersely and as he spoke, Seamus backed away with mistrust.

"I know where he is," Pansy Parkinson said. "Hermione needs our help and I promised. She needs all of us."

* * *

><p>Padma's eyes were unreadable in the heavy shadows of the hallway and Hermione felt the relief she had felt only minutes before fading away, being swallowed by the oppressive gloom around them.<p>

"Hermione, I'm not the only one."

"What?"

"I'm not the only one that believed in Blaise. We all did; even you did."

The truth could not be disputed. Hermione knew that at one time she had trusted Blaise Zabini.

"People change," she pointed out in a whisper, hoping to make Padma see.

The other woman remained firm in her loyalties.

"You know how it is to be ridiculed! You went through hell and back all those years under the old Ministry. I know it; I saw it happen all the time but we suffered too! All of us pureblooded and willing to help…"

She shook her head, a faraway look in her eyes.

"My sister died for the cause and I won't forget Blaise and how kind he was. I can't do that, Hermione. Please, don't ask me to."

Hermione knew that there would be others like Padma; Blaise would not be alone, not even at the end.

"He's after my son," she choked out. "He's after N-Neville and each moment we stand here…"

But she faded away knowing that there would be no help here. Blaise would have made sure of that, wouldn't he?

Padma gently steered Hermione onwards and they went through another, smaller door. Here the path grew narrower and the walls and floors became stone and cement as if they had passed from a home into a tunnel leading downwards. Here the only light came from infrequent, flickering candles against the walls and Padma's wand light.

"Where are you taking me?"

Hermione hadn't wanted to ask the question and her voice echoed uncertainly in the small, stone space. But it didn't matter; Padma did not offer a reply.

Eventually Hermione felt Padma's hand and she ground to a halt trying to see beyond the weak light.

"He'll be here any moment."

Hermione walked into a room that was bigger than the one she had been imprisoned in earlier. She couldn't see much but she could feel the space around her. Padma waved her wand and the room was lit up. For a moment, Hermione felt disoriented but then she heard the most beautiful voice in the whole world.

"Mama!"

* * *

><p>Everyone looked towards the newcomer and somehow Ginny felt the need to stand between the Alliance and Pansy, just in case. After all, if there was one thing she had learned from life it was that hatred made people do horrid things.<p>

Dean was scowling.

"I thought we had made it clear that the Death Eaters stayed behind! Isn't it enough that somehow we all got roped into helping them?" he accused, his black eyes flashing towards Ginny and Pansy.

Ginny refused to be deterred.

"Have you found Blaise yet, Dean?" she questioned. "Isn't each second that slips by harder than the last, knowing that Neville still hasn't been found?"

Dean's face hardened and Seamus shook his head, blue eyes widening.

"Ginny, you shouldn't-"

"No," Dean interrupted coldly, from between clenched teeth. "No, I-we haven't found him."

Without wanting to, he glanced warily towards Pansy.

"Now you're gonna blither on about how you knew where he is, are you?"

There was a heavy silence as the others nearby had stopped murmuring to themselves and were now watching Dean with rapt attention. Pansy's shoulders slumped.

"I know you don't have a reason to trust me."

There was a long hesitation before the woman looked up to grace Dean with a violet-hued, glittery stare. There was uncertainty in her manner as she continued.

"But I know Blaise Zabini. For a long time we worked together as Commanders of the alienages. I know how he thinks and I know…"

She stopped, taking a breath.

"He is a brilliant man and for as long as I can remember, while we rose in the Ministry ranks, I had always found myself threatened by him. Some people are thrust into power and others…"

There was no sound and Seamus cleared his throat.

"It's Neville you talk of, to be sure," he muttered.

"I think he's a great man," Pansy assured. "I wouldn't have risked coming here otherwise. He is the rightful Minister and if you don't hurry then the British Ministry will once again be lead by a tyrant. No one wants that – least of all myself."

The looks worn by the weary remnants of the former Alliance were ones of disdain and Pansy had to look away.

"I know you've been through hell and back. But I know how that feels! Don't you see, he's done to us what we did to _you_."

She trembled.

"I've known hunger, pain, fear – I've felt it all. I felt it long before the old Ministry fell and I know it even more now. They've taken my dignity…my wand…my power. I am nothing and if I could go back and change what-"

Dean stopped Pansy abruptly.

"Save your breath; no one wants to hear this."

His voice was rough but beneath that there were fissures caused by his growing sympathy. In spite of himself, Dean could not see a reason why this woman – this heartless creature – would lie. Not now, not when she risked her very life.

She had looked away from him but when she glanced up at him again she had not lost the steady determination that had possessed her earlier.

"Let me help. Let me at least begin to make up for all the pain I've caused."

"You know where he is? You say Hermione was with you?"

She nodded.

"She was and I do."

A silence fell upon the small group gathered in the empty field where the alienage had once stood. When no one spoke, Pansy dared to.

"What you forget," she managed to whisper, "is that Blaise was a master of disillusionment. It is how he managed to thwart Bellatrix and some of the other Ministry Officials. He was able to make people see only what he wanted them to see."

She then raised her wand, her hand trembling slightly.

"There," she whispered.

They turned to look. On the gray horizon stood a tiny, brick building and beyond that a path through a clearing that led towards a line of trees.

Dean began to move quickly, his heart hammering wildly.

_Why? Why didn't I think-?_

Panic rose up from within him as the clearing revealed what normally would have been another unimpressive brick structure. He motioned towards the others.

"Come on!"

They ran towards the building and then Dean raised his wand.

"Revelio.."

He began to mutter an incantation under his breath but those around him caught on quickly and as the spell was cast the air around them seem to shift, moving and swirling until all traces of the disillusionment charms that Blaise cast had been cleared away.

The house stood where it had always stood; it was a grand brick structure and had been sold to Voldemort's Ministry a year before they had built the alienage. Now that the old Ministry had fallen and the alienages with it the house had fallen into disuse.

It had been Blaise's perfect hideaway. And now it was revealed to all.

* * *

><p>Hermione had only a few moments within which to reach out towards her son, who was caged like an animal in the corner of the dimly-lit stone-walled room.<p>

"Leo," she choked out, running forward and falling to her knees before her child.

"Mama! I wanted to see you! Da bad man said no! Da bad man-"

"Hush, my little one," Hermione murmured hoping to instill peace in Leo even if it was only for a few moments. His little hands were cold when she reached to wrap her own around them and he would not let go of the bars.

"Mama, I wanna be free!"

"I know, love, I know…"

But how?

She scrambled to her feet frantically turning around to face Padma and standing between the onyx-haired woman and her son protectively.

"Please," she choked out, her eyes wide. "Let us go; I promise I won't ever say-"

There might have been a flicker of uncertainty on Padma's face but before anything else could be said the room was filled with a loud popping sound and Hermione gasped as Blaise appeared before her, clutching Neville by his side tightly.

Neville was bound and gagged, his head lolling to the side. Hermione couldn't recall having ever seen him so…worn. Behind her Leo began to cry out and she felt her already stricken heart breaking further.

"So you've come."

Blaise's voice was the epitome of warmth though Hermione knew better.

"Perhaps now he will understand that I am serious."

With a shove, Neville stumbled forward, bleary eyes opening. There were sounds coming from behind his gag but Hermione could not make them out.

"Neville," she moaned, rushing to his side, forgetting that there was so much more at stake. Blaise watched with interest.

"Shall I take off the gag?"

With a wave of his wand the gag was gone and with it the bindings that had Neville imprisoned. He stumbled in surprise and fell into Hermione, knocking them both to the ground and causing Leo to let out another shriek. Hermione managed to sit up, helping Neville do the same for she could see his sheer exhaustion.

"Neville, thank God you're alive!" she sighed with relief, glad to be holding on to him, glad that he was warm and awake and so very much-

"Now," Blaise said standing before them with a look of interesting about him. "I won't make this difficult for either of you."

Hermione and Neville stared up at Blaise wordlessly.

"I want the Ministry."

He crouched before them.

"Resign now and name me your successor and I will let you, your whore of a wife and bastard son live."

Hermione gasped, feeling tears of shame burning behind her eyes. She had long-ago forgiven herself but she knew her past would never be forgotten.

Neville's mouth opened but nothing came out. Blaise leaned closer.

"If you don't, I will kill the child first and then you. I will make it look as if the whore did and no one will be the wiser. After that, I will take the Ministry by force. So you see, you have no choice."

Hermione paled and she glanced at Neville who looked defeated. Blaise waited for a few anguished seconds.

"Did all these people have to die, Minister? Will you let your family die too?"

There were tears shining in Neville's eyes as he finally gave in.

"Fine…fine. The Ministry is yours," he croaked and it was met with Blaise's smile of triumph.

* * *

><p>Pansy stood at the door, motioning to the others.<p>

"Not all of us should go in," she instructed tersely. "He will be waiting for an ambush; he always plans one step ahead. Dean and Seamus hesitated, turning to the others in their group.

"What of them?"

Pansy thought quickly.

"We will need wards. Something to ensure that Blaise cannot Apparate if he panics. We must make this his prison if we are to stop him."

The others surrounded the building and soon there were swirls of magic in the air as incantations fell from cracked and trembling lips. The four that remained stood at the door. Just as Dean pushed at the door they heard a cry from behind them.

"Be careful! He's got Hermione! He's got Hermione and my son!"

There was a shocked silence as Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Pansy turned to find Draco standing behind them, bloodied and wand less.

"Let me help, please."

* * *

><p>Blaise knew that although triumph was so close he could taste it, he had little time to savor the spoils of victory. He had to move; he had to move quickly. He knew they would come because he had always known that Thomas and the rest of the Alliance that remained were formidable opponents. He had seen too many times their determination and fortitude in battle and now the battle would be against him.<p>

He quickly waved his wand and a magical contract floated towards Neville.

He would have Longbottom sign and then he would have Padma go to the Ministry. She would have to hurry; he would not allow her to Apparate for he feared that there were wards surrounding his hideaway. Surely by now the members of the Alliance had found him and were simply lying in wait.

They would not find him. By the time they did it would be too late and he would take his rightful place as Minister for Magic.

"Sign it," he ordered as Neville gripped a quill in his shaking hand. The ink glowed on the parchment and with another flick of his wand, Blaise held the binding contract in his fist.

The Ministry was his.

Quickly he turned to his accomplice.

"Go quickly; I have little time to spare. Give this to the Ministry and ensure that they are aware that the Minister has resigned. Go the back way and kill anyone who gets in your way."

Hermione gasped.

"Padma, no!"

Blaise laughed as the dark-haired woman disappeared at his orders.

"You think that just because my goodness is tarnished that there still won't be those who will never forget the good I have done? You gormless bint! I have more supporters than I have foes! The Ministry is mine and I will lead with the same power that I led the Alliance."

Hermione willed herself not to cry as Neville pointed towards a crying Leo.

"We held up our end of your agreement; let the boy go."

Blaise sneered.

"After all that she's done you still remain loyal," he said shaking his head. "She's nothing but a whore and you stand by her side? Do you know that her lover is still alive? This whole time your marriage has been a farce! Wouldn't you rather die now than know that she will leave you as soon as she gets the chance?"

Hermione wanted to curse Blaise; she wanted to destroy him so that he could never hurt anyone ever again. But a deeper part of her knew that some of what he was saying was true; she was at fault. She had allowed herself to love two men even though her heart belonged to only one. She reached up, her icy-cold hands running along the sides of his face. She willed him to look at her and took the burden of the pain she saw in his eyes.

"It isn't the way he says," Hermione whispered, leaning close to place a chaste kiss to the side of Neville's mouth. "I have loved you; I have loved you a long time and in the best way I know how. If you believe anything, I want you to believe that."

When she pulled away tears of emotion glittered in her eyes.

"Please, you have to believe me, Neville. I would never have intentionally hurt you. Not after everything you've done for me."

Neville watched her quizzically and for a few moments it was like the rest of the world – all the horrors – melted away.

"My Hermione," he whispered.

She nodded, smiling for a second through her tears.

"Yes, yes, I will always be yours in some way! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry this happened to us but especially to you! You deserve so much more than I could ever give you and I promise when this is over I'm going to do everything I can to make this right."

Neville sat, dumbfounded for a few seconds, gently running his fingers through her thick, messy curls. How he had loved this woman! How she had changed his mind and his heart – and made him forget all the disappointments in life. And how cruel it was that she was watching him and he simply _knew _that everything they had ever shared had changed.

"I wanted to tell you the whole truth," Hermione emphasized, reaching up to clasp his hand in hers tightly, hoping to make him believe how she felt. "I wanted to but then the teacup…"

She shook her head.

"There just wasn't time and I was so afraid," she finished lamely.

"Is it Draco?" Neville guessed. "Is Zabini right?"

Hermione hung her head in shame and she did not have to speak for Neville to know the truth. In spite of this he did not let go of her hand.

"I am sorry too. I am sorry for trying to make you a woman you weren't. I am sorry for not understanding your pain and for pushing you."

He leaned press his clammy cheek against her heated one.

"Thank you for making me someone I didn't think I could be. You've given me strength, Hermione."

His eyes watered.

"And I will always love you."

Pulling away he straightened himself and with Hermione's assistance, he stood.

"Give Hermione her son. You've gotten what you wanted; I will leave England and go back to Cardiff. You won't see me again."

Blaise who had watched the duo with a nearly sadistic interest, cocked his head.

"Never let it be said that Blaise Zabini was not a man of his word," he stated finally, and as he waved his wand the magical cage melted away, freeing Leo to run towards his mother.

But before any of them could move again there was a loud explosion from the door on the other of the room and as it flew open Hermione saw Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Draco and Pansy rush into the room, wands held high. They surrounded him and Blaise cursed himself for his timing. If he had just hurried the bitch up, if he had just taken the contract and fled the building…

Now he saw them – those who had fought on his side once and even those who had fought against him, fought with him and now had changed sides yet again! He would have to focus on the intruders for he knew the bitch had no wand and the former Minister was to weak to fight. It was these new ones that would be the problem. Without another thought, Blaise dodged the sudden red flashes of light and ran towards the opposite side of the room, deflecting the curses that were cast at him.

He would reach the door and Apparate.

Somehow the room was ablaze all of a sudden. Red and orange flames licked up along the stone walls and caused the heavy drapes that lined them to catch fire, the smoke black and oily. The room was too small to contain such a burning blaze and soon there was only the sound of coughing and the little boy's wails of fear.

"Stupefy!"

One of them yelled this across the room and Blaise threw himself to the floor and crawled towards the steps that he knew would be there. The smoke hadn't reached them; he might be safe. Let them all die down there for all he cared!

"Sectumsempra!"

This time it was Dean and he was much, much to close. The spell hit its target and Blaise screamed for a split second as the pain ripped along his body.

_I cannot stop now! All my life I have had those who would stop me; I will not let them succeed!_

Anger fueled him and it filled him with a white-hot determination that burned hotter than the fire around them. He rolled aside, away from his escape, clutching his wand tightly. Then, leaping to his feet, Blaise looked in Dean's direction.

The smoke cleared and Blaise targeted his foe.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the room almost erasing the golden glow of the fire and Blaise watched triumphantly as Dean Thomas fell dead.

* * *

><p>Within one minute of the battle one of them had already fallen.<p>

Draco fell to the ground after Dean, working quickly to claim the fallen man's wand. There was no time for pain now, no time to cry and wail. He had seen death too much to be shocked; nothing would ever shock him again. The wand was hot and solid in his fingers and Draco relished having such power again, jumping back to his feet and nearly choking on the acrid smoke. It was hard to see and between the orange flames and the billowing, black smoke no one knew their right from left.

He could only hear one thing – the cries of his son. And that was what pushed him onwards.

Blaise was trying to escape, stumbling once again in the direction of the stone stairway leading up. Dean had tried to stop his progress and Draco knew that by now the other man must have been weak from blood loss. He would be slower; this would be the time if there ever had been.

Draco didn't hesitate again.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Everything moved in slow motion as he watched Blaise drop to the ground like a dead weight and the curse hit the wall and bounced back.

"GET DOWN!"

Two minutes had passed and Draco did not know if the others had heeded his warning.

"YOU DARE LIFT YOUR WAND AGAINST ME?"

Blaise had managed to get back to his feet and Draco saw him charging across the room, coming in and out of focus through the thick smoke.

"AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU?"

His voice echoed the rage that flowed through his body but Draco stood his ground hoping that if there was an altercation that he would be the one to face it.

"I'LL SHOW YOU!"

There was scuffling from behind and Draco turned to see Ginny moving to shield Hermione and Leo as Seamus reached down to help Neville get to his feet. They were the ones without wands and to get them out of the room – at least through the door that they had blown open – was imperative.

Draco could deal with everything else so long as he knew Hermione was safe.

"Relashio!"

Blaise deflected Pansy's curse and she went flying against one of the far walls as he deflected it back towards her with a cry of shock. Seamus leapt forward a white light jetting out from the tip of his wand but this, too, Blaise was able to deflect.

"Malfoy, you're a fool for ever thinking you could get away from me!"

With a violent shove he managed to grab the blond man by his hair. He yanked hard causing Draco to wince in pain, tears of pain flooding his vision. Blaise pulled him tight.

"I would outright kill her but I think I'd like you to watch her die," he whispered as he quickly deflected a curse from Ginny causing the right sight of the room to explode in a flash of bright light.

Draco fought against Blaise's grip but it seemed as if the taller man was invincible. The smoke cleared and he caught a glimpse of Hermione as she clutched Leo to her side turning him away from the fire and carnage. Though she could do little without a wand she was fighting valiantly to ensure that her son saw nothing – even if these would be their last few moments on Earth.

Blaise gave no one time to pause.

"Sectumsempra!" he cried out his wand shaking in his grip.

Draco could see that the man was weakening now from his own severe loss of blood. But still he fought as if moved by some unholy force.

Time stopped. Hermione attempted to crawl away, still protecting Leo. Draco held his breath as he finally broke free of Blaise's grip and flung him off viciously, pushing away so that he could better grip Dean's wand. Then from the smoke came an unearthly cry.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Draco knew that voice; it was Neville's.

Neville sprung into action and threw himself forward from where he had fallen, becoming a shield for his wife and the boy he had called his own son for years. The curse hit him squarely in the chest, ripping him apart. He lay still and Blaise prepared to finish Hermione and the boy.

"Leave my family alone, you bastard!"

Surprised and shocked that Draco would even dare defy him once again, the dark-skinned man turned just in time to stare into the eyes of the man that would finish him off for good.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Blaise blinked in the face of the blinding, green light and the last thing Draco saw as those words fell from his lips was his look of despair and shock. Then Blaise fell dead and with his death came a terrible silence. Not even Leo cried.

Was it over now? Only six minutes had passed but those minutes had seemed like six lifetimes. Rendered immobile, the four still standing stared at each other through the burning smoke and orange flames. In the corner, Hermione and Leo rocked Neville who clung to life, gasping for air. He had saved the lives of Draco's family sacrificing everything – possibly including his life.


	76. Chapter 76

_My heart and thoughts go out to all those who were in the path of the Halloween hurricane. East Coasters I feel your pain and I hope you can recover quickly. Please, pray for those affected. It was a tragedy. After this there is only one chapter and possibly a prologue that will tie the ends together. I will thank you again – I mean it from the bottom of my heart. For all of you who have taken this journey with me – I will always be grateful. But before all that here is the next to last chapter! Enjoy._

_L Cailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX<p>

* * *

><p>The shock wore off almost immediately; they all, in many ways, were used to tragedy.<p>

Seamus began to put the fire out, waving his wand towards the flames to tame them, muttering incantations under his breath. Pansy rushed to help him while Ginny scooped a stricken Leo from the ground to cradle him closely.

"Daddy, I wan Daddy!"

It was painful to hear such pleas in the light of what was happening.

Hermione struggled not to cry as she rocked her husband gently. Even though she knew each second she remained frozen with inaction Neville's life was slipping away, she could not bring herself to move. Her grief was deep and it was evident in the way she whispered to him.

Draco did what he could to stave off the flow of blood from the wounds Blaise's curse had inflicted. But they all knew that little could be done for Neville; the wounds would not heal. Draco did his best to bind the lacerations around his middle and across his chest but the blood continued to seep through all the fabrics he could find. He finally took to charms that might slow the flow just enough that they could get Neville to safety-

"Is he going to die?"

Hermione's voice was broken as she stroked Neville's white face. He was helpless in her arms, twitching slightly and wheezing as he tried to breathe. His eyes would flutter occasionally but he had yet to open them. Hermione prayed for a miracle.

Draco put his hand over Hermione's so that it covered hers and Neville's.

"I swear I will do everything in my power to save him."

The fire was put out and all that remained was the dry, painful scent of destruction. Seamus stood next to Ginny trying to calm a crying Leo.

"You know James, Albie and Lily are waiting for you, they are," he was whispering.

Leo clung to Ginny tightly, choking on his own sobs, both comforted and terrified at the same time.

"I'll take up him upstairs with the others," Ginny said softly, kissing the top of his curly-haired head.

"Sure, I'll be goin' with ya," Seamus said his voice tense. "Now that…Dean-"

He shook his head.

"Someone will have to…let the others know. We will have them lower the wards. The Healers need to be here soon, they do."

"I'll take care of that," Ginny murmured, sensing her husband's deep pain at the loss of his best mate. They clasped hands and pulled Leo close between them before disappearing with a 'pop'.

Draco, Hermione and Neville were alone now; Pansy had disappeared wordlessly moments after putting the fire out; no one had noticed her departure.

Draco worked with the concentration of a madman. Nothing mattered more to him now than saving the life of the man who had saved his family. Certainly Draco had felt jealousy towards this man; he had felt resentment and anger.

_He married the only woman I have ever loved, heart and soul. He claimed my son as his own!_

Neville let out a raspy sound.

_He loved her when I couldn't; he loves my son. He loves them like I do. He saved their lives. And for that I owe him a debt I will never be able to pay._

Draco decided that he would not allow Longbottom to die. There was no other choice.

"Do you remember all those children in the alienages? The ones who came there to die? I recall those long, cold nights that you would nurse them, trying to restore their health."

Hermione, who was gazing down at her dying husband, shuddered.

"Yes," she whispered in reply.

"Even then I wondered at your stubbornness and the endless compassion within you."

A tear slipped down her sooty face, leaving a ragged streak.

"My compassion did nothing to save those children."

Draco looked down with determination.

"But it might save Neville."

The fallen man groaned as Draco tried to lay him on the ground as carefully as possible.

"We can help him; we can do this together. You've always been brilliant at healing and he needs you."

Hermione nodded, forcing her tears away and laying her hands along Neville's bloodied torso. Draco was right; she couldn't hesitate now. Neville's life depended on it.

* * *

><p>Air had never tasted so clean. Pansy stood facing the breeze, her body aching and eyes burning. There were whispers around her, murmurs that melted into the cacophony that was the rest of the world. She had believed that she had seen everything. But the scene in the stone cellar of Blaise's hideaway would haunt her forever.<p>

And now Neville Longbottom was dying.

She clutched the small handful of Dittany to her chest tightly. If there was something she could do she would do it; she would not have Neville's death on her conscience too especially if she could help it. Somehow, he _had_ to survive.

_And why is that?_

Pansy took in a breath, pushing her dark hair from her shoulders and the scent of smoke rose up once again to haunt her. As she stared straight ahead at the gray horizon she refused to answer her mind's question. There was no reason to think after a man she had never cared for in the past and one who had a wife-

After a few more breaths of pristine air, the woman turned to move back towards the house.

Pansy heard him before she saw him.

"He would have thanked you, he would."

_Finnigan_.

Pansy had spent most of her life either ignoring him or detesting him. He had escaped the Ministry the first time; he had been a vital member of the Alliance. He was fierce, stubborn and smart – all those things that they had all hated in a half blood. But all that was in a past Pansy wanted to forget. She wanted to say something back; she wanted to look at him but her shame would not allow it. After a long silence, Seamus spoke again.

"He would have thanked you and so now I will."

"He was a good leader; Neville told me so."

There was a silence but Pansy could feel Seamus' approval nonetheless.

"Aye, he was, to be sure. A greater man there never was."

Pansy force a smile through the shame.

"I would have thanked him for trusting me in spite of his instincts."

She dared to look at him and he was watching her solemnly.

"Trust is a tricky thing."

Pansy shook her head.

"You need never make excuses when it comes to me. I deserve never to be trusted; I _caused_ some of the pain in this world."

"Aye, so have we all."

She watched as he carefully took her hand in his to squeeze it.

"No one will forget this. Thank you."

The breeze picked up stirring the smoke-tinged air. Seamus looked back towards the brick building with a growing concern and Pansy tightened her grip on his fingers.

"He deserves a proper burial; he was a man of honor. When this is all over…"

_When this is all over…_

Seamus nodded his heart heavy. He had heard the phrase so many times in his life that it no longer held meaning or hope. Perhaps this was over but his best mate had died. And Neville-

Pansy was looking down at the small cloth bag she was clutching to her chest.

"These might help him," she whispered as if reading Seamus' mind. Perhaps she could. "It's Dittany. I know when the alienages still existed-"

Suddenly Pansy was overwhelmed once more by the horror of what had happened in the alienage courtyard that hot, summer afternoon when she had nearly killed Hermione Granger in front of her family and the others who were imprisoned within those walls. She would never forget it – her anger and the way Granger looked at her.

Swallowing shame she locked eyes with Seamus.

"He's our Minister. He's not dead yet and we've got to do everything we can to save him."

* * *

><p>They had laid Neville's limp and cool body on the dirty, debris littered ground and Hermione bent over him barely seeing his ashen face in the dimness of the smoke-filled room.<p>

"There was a spell," Draco murmured, trying in vain to stave off the flow of blood from the cursed wounds. "I remember…Snape…he was _singing_ something to me that day in the bathroom…"

Draco was unsure if his musings made sense but he recalled the pain of Harry Potter's curse and the way his blood had mixed with the water as he had lain on the lavatory floor with his professor hovering over him, his pinched, white face a mask of concern. And yes, the incantation had been almost like a song. Draco had never forgotten it and now he whispered it over and over again so that Hermione could hear and so that they worked together in hope of saving the Minister's life. For the longest time the only sound was their healing chant and Neville's wheezing.

The fallen man shuddered and trembled and Hermione continued to chant the healing spell through eyes that were filled with tears of pain and regret. Just when she thought all was lost Neville's eyes flew open, rolling around in their sockets and stopping to stare blearily upwards.

"You…"

His vision cleared and Draco felt his heart stop when those eyes focused on him.

"You…it was always you, wasn't it?"

There was no emotion in that voice for Neville couldn't muster the strength to speak above a whisper. Draco wondered if anyone would ever know if those words had been meant to wound or to question.

"Don't…don't move…don't try to speak. Not until…not until we get you out of here and to a Healer."

"You…you saved me."

Draco felt a tremendous weight on his heart and he knew it was guilt. Swallowing back his self-loathing he nodded listening to the soothing sound of Hermione's gentle incantation. A sense of calm had fallen over the room; Neville's bleeding had begun to slow.

"You are her husband," Draco found himself saying. It had always been as true as it was impossible to believe. "You were for her when I could not be."

"Anyone would have done what I did. She is too easy to love."

Neither man could deny the whispered declaration. The two men in the smoky room were united in the feeling that had captured their hearts: loving Hermione Granger.

"It was the easiest thing I have ever done," Draco admitted. "I know you understand that and I know you want to survive this so you can love each other once again."

Draco gripped Neville's hand, swallowing his own feelings to ensure the other man's survival.

"She _loves_ you, Neville. Never mind the mess that she and I have caused. She _loves_ you."

These were poignant words, filled with pain and longing – and as necessary to Neville's survival as they were vile to Draco's utterance.

The ashen-faced Minister offered a sound that may have been a laugh. In his weakened state it was impossible to tell.

"Not the way she loves _you_."

Hermione had cut apart Neville's clothing and the wounds, which were gaping and bloody, began to knit themselves together slowly.

Draco felt disgusted with himself.

"I should never have come back," he said miserably. "I never wanted to interfere. Please believe that."

Neville's eyes remained focused on Draco's pale face.

"You never would have if I was the one she wanted," he managed to say. His voice had risen above a pained whisper now. "But I am not who she wants."

Neville's bleary gaze moved to his dutiful wife.

"Hermione, you are f-free. Free-"

Draco began to object but the air around them moved and a soft pop preceded Pansy's apparition. She fell to the dirty ground near Hermione, offering a small bundle.

"Dittany," she said softly. "This should help with the scarring and soothe the wounds."

Hermione, who had not spoken for long moments, looked up and nodded to Pansy gratefully.

"Thank you."

Pansy worked alongside Hermione her face a mask of determined concentration. She, as always, said no more. Neville had also fallen silent after his weakened confession, choosing instead to watch his wife and the woman who knelt next to her. His body screamed in pain although Neville couldn't remember the last time that pain had felt so…strange. He could almost feel his flesh shifting and twisting as if being bound up by some magical force. Each breath, ever second, seemed to bring with it a new bout of aches. He wasn't even aware that he had begun to groan out in pain against his will.

That was until the cool touch of Pansy's Parkinson's smoke scented fingers.

"You will live," she was saying over and over again. Even though her litany of words worked to soothe him, Neville still managed to reach out and grip Draco's hand.

"You…take care of her…if…if something happens. I want you to."

Draco stared, taken aback.

"She would want you to. I was only…I was only a stand-in."

Hermione glanced up from her work watching him, her face blanching.

"I made a commitment to you," she hissed, eyes tearing up. "I would never-I can never be free to-"

"And I would never force you to love me the way I deserve. And I want you to be happy."

The heaviness of the statement caused everyone to fall silent.

"Neville, I-"

Hermione's aching plea was cut off by Pansy's firm touch. The room was once again silent and finally the curly-haired witch refocused her efforts on saving the man she had called her husband for so long. And only when his painful groans ceased and the blood was no longer weeping from the magical wounds did she relax.

Neville would survive; what she faced once she left Zabini's hideaway she did not know but at least she knew Neville would live. And that was the most important thing.

Pansy and Draco helped Hermione to her feet and she wobbled unsteadily for a few moments her legs having gone numb from the hard concrete beneath them. Neville had fallen into a restless sleep.

"They will come for the bodies," Pansy whispered weakly. "The Ministry will be here…"

Hermione glanced at the dark-haired woman.

"We should be up there to let them know what is happening," she said gravely but found that leaving Neville was more difficult than she had anticipated.

Though his wounds had healed quite nicely and he was not standing on death's doorstep she was loathe to leave him in the state he was in. A part of her would always blame herself…

"I will stay with him if you want."

Once more, Pansy had read Hermione's mind.

"You go with Draco."

Uncertainly, Hermione acquiesced.

"You'll come for me if he…if he starts to get worse?"

"The moment it happens, _if_ it happens, I promise."

As Draco took her hand to Apparate, Hermione found that somewhere along the line, she had learned how to trust Pansy Parkinson. She leaned into Draco's warmth easily, finding herself able to take a full breath for the first time since being taken prisoner.

"Will it end now, Draco?" she whispered her question.

He did not answer.

It did not end.

* * *

><p>The Ministry arrived within the hour. There were Officials dressed in deep purple and black robes – dozens of them it seemed. The air about them seemed jubilant in spite of the death that had transpired in that place.<p>

Seamus and Ginny clutched Leo closely, shielding him from view as Hermione had done.

Ginny turned quickly to survey the group that had arrived. None were friendly with Neville; there were none in the group who could be called friends. These were…the ones that had supported Blaise Zabini during the war and the ones that had been mistrustful of Neville-

"Why are they here?" she hissed against Leo's soft hair.

Seamus' blue eyes were unusually grave.

"See the short bloke just there?" he whispered to his wife, nodding towards a tiny wizard that stood at the back of the group. His robes were almost too big for his small frame.

"He was part of that group Blaise created. Snatching up Death Eaters they were!"

He glanced down at Ginny for a moment.

"I'll take Leo and you go down to that cellar and warn Draco and Pansy. Hell, warn Hermione too; if we all know about what's happened between her and Draco, by now the Ministry might know too! There's no telling what they are here for."

Ginny didn't waste any time questioning her husband's motives and placed Leo firmly into the circle of his arms, stepping away from them both.

"Where is Blaise Zabini?"

The wizard who led the group was one Ginny only faintly recognized from the British Ministry. Though only familiar with names and not generally with faces, Ginny knew that she had seen him on the pages of the _Prophet_ at one time or another. But putting faces with the names of Neville's numerous colleagues had proven difficult and after a while Ginny had stopped trying. She had given up her life in England anyway, having moved to Ireland after her marriage which had been years ago.

"We have been told there's been a hunt for him!"

The Alliance stood silent many still in the same places they had put up the earlier wards to stop Zabini. None of them glanced towards the wizard in purple and black. None of them spoke.

"Where is he?"

The new voice rang clear in the gray, windy afternoon. It was Padma's voice and it surprised some and brought pain to others for in it lay the unspoken – the truth of her unwavering loyalty to Blaise Zabini.

Seamus stepped forward.

"Sure, you ought ta be ashamed of yourself! Standin' up for a man the likes of Zabini!"

"You don't understand!" she shot back standing before him her chin raised with defiance. Her black eyes flashed angrily. "He protected my sister and me! He took care of Lavender; he took care of _all_ of us!"

She put up her hands helplessly.

"He won the war for us and gave us new freedoms and rights! It's because of HIM that we are all equal!"

Seamus let out a snort of contempt.

"Equal me arse! You're blind, you are! There be no rights for everyone!"

Padma shook her head.

"Those who were cruel in the past deserve what is coming to them!"

Ginny interrupted.

"Then that's not equality Padma, is it? What the Death Eaters did to the Muggleborns and half bloods is unforgivable but should we be the same? Isn't it time to move past all this prejudice?"

The black-haired woman stood speechless for a moment as beyond them, the gray sky darkened and the rumble of thunder could be heard. The wind picked up bringing with it the stench of smoke.

"Where is he?"

This time her voice was softer, less demanding. "He is our Minister now; Neville has resigned. I was there."

The shock of Padma's pronouncement left Ginny and Seamus speechless this time.

"He will lead us the way Neville couldn't."

There was a murmur of agreement from the group of Ministry Officials behind her.

"So tell us where he is so we can finish this nonsense, cast the blame and move on with our lives."

They had all been so focused on one another that they did not see Draco and Hermione when they Apparated into the small clearing.

"He is dead."

Padma whirled around at the sound of Hermione's voice. The two women stood facing one another – one was sad the other bewildered.

"What did you say?"

"Blaise is dead."

The rumble of distant thunder was the only sound in that moment; it was as if time had stopped, swallowing everything with it – even human breath and heartbeat. Confusion could be felt through the silence and then a moment later Padma uttered an angry shriek.

"She did it!"

Pointing her wand at Hermione, Padma advanced.

"She killed him! Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

The harsh accusation startled Hermione and she faltered, falling back an inch. Her eyes widened.

"I don't know-"

"Spare me your rubbish lies!" Padma cried. "You wanted to see him dead! You begged me to help you escape, you called him all manner of horrid names! You killed him!"

Hermione shook her head finally finding her voice amidst the madness.

"Yes, he's dead!"

Her repeated declaration neither saved or damned her. The anger between the two women grew to a fevered pitch and two men stepped in between them: Seamus and the leader from the Ministry.

"Stop this," Seamus urged gently.

"We will get to the bottom of everything," assured the Official.

The two women glared at one another and their looks seemed to be more damaging than even magic. Neither spoke.

"If Blaise is dead where is his body?"

The question was more like a demand but Hermione could not find the strength to answer. Ginny's voice rose up around them.

"In the cellar of the house. Dean Thomas…he-he is there too."

Seamus had looked away.

"The Minister is there as well. You should talk to him, you should."

"Neville's not the Minister any longer! I was there; I saw him willingly sign the contract! And then she KILLED HIM!"

Once again Padma's wrath blazed white-hot and the Official had to keep her from attacking Hermione. Draco, who had stood silent as death, finally found his voice.

"Lavender Zabini cursed Neville. Then, when he survived that, Blaise managed to kidnap him. His whole plan all along was to secure the position of Minister for Magic. He did not care for anyone but himself. Right before…right before he was killed-"

He dropped his head.

"Blaise was the one who killed Dean Thomas. Then when he tried to kill Hermione I…"

Ginny jumped in quickly, stopping Draco's obvious confession.

"Stop this, Draco."

The Official looked at the small group before him.

"Who will speak now?"

No one answered him.

* * *

><p>Neville felt colder than he had ever felt in his whole life. It wasn't just the fingers of cold gripping him, seeping into him from the cement beneath him. It was the numbness that had spread over his body, making the pain from his wounds fade slightly. He wasn't sure he would live or die. What he did know for sure was that he had suffered for what seemed like a lifetime. Not just on that day, in that smoky cellar. There had been days before that, so that now they all blended together into one endless, weary symphony of pain. Neville no longer knew how long he had been suffering.<p>

Amidst the blanket of cold he was aware that there was the warm grip of someone's hand on his. And when he opened his eyes, Neville looked into the violet depths of Pansy Parkinson's eyes.

"What-what are you doing here?"

She shifted slightly in the dimness but would not let go of his hand. Her fingers were so warm.

"Someone needed to stay here, Minister."

"I-I…am no longer…Minister…"

There was pressure on his fingers.

"But you are. Blaise is dead," she whispered.

They gazed at one another for a long time. There was much said without words; it was as if they understood each other.

"You never gave in to him. They say you aren't brave and you don't deserve to run the Ministry but I beg you to get well so you _can_. You are the bravest man I know."

The sincerity of Pansy's words left Neville unable to reply for a long time. When he finally did his words were weak.

"What-what happens now?"

The Healers will come and you will recover at St. Mungo's."

Neville blinked and licked his dry lips.

"Cardiff…I-I want…to go…home."

Pansy shook her head as she watched Neville struggling to keep his eyes open.

"You have duties here," she reminded him, her voice hoarse.

"I don't…want them…anymore. I don't…want…anymore."

Pansy sighed.

"After everything you've been through you cannot just run away."

"Wales is my…home. I miss…the Clinic."

He fell silent, wincing as a wave of pain washed over him and then he felt her impossibly warm fingers against the side of his icy face.

"You rest now," she urged. "All this you can think about when you awaken."

Neville began to float…and Pansy soft voice was the last thing he remembered. It served to soothe his broken heart and to protect it from the pain of loss and the fear of uncertainty.

* * *

><p>The Officials descended the cement steps to the cellar, followed by Ginny, Seamus, Hermione and Draco.<p>

Pansy heard them long before she saw them; they did not Apparate into the room. The dimness of the small, smoky space began to slowly be filled with wand light until they surrounded her and Neville, who had fallen into a deep sleep from which none could wake him.

For a long time the group said nothing. It was as if time had stopped but Pansy knew that would not last.

"Is he dead?" questioned one Official finally and in the shadows Pansy almost though he looked eager. Perhaps that was her imagination.

The others peered around him to stare at Neville's pallor in the dim white light.

"No," Pansy replied in a raspy whisper. "He only sleeps; he needs medical attention. You must-"

"What we must do is get to the bottom of this."

He turned to face Hermione and the others in the group.

"You say you did not kill him even though Miss Patil brings such allegations against you?"

Hermione took a breath.

"I-"

"She didn't. I did," Draco interrupted in monotone leaving Hermione unable to defend him. He took a step forward as if to shield Hermione from any harm. At the same time, Seamus snorted.

"Aye, Malfoy, stop this. Sure, we know you didn't kill him."

The shock of Seamus' quiet defense left the others silent so that the Official could interrupt.

"Why would _anyone_ want to kill him?"

"Zabini has murdered many and no one has stepped up to stop him. What happened here today…no one was given a choice."

The Official gave them both a stern look.

"There are always choices. Blaise Zabini was a hero and to see him end like this…"

"Hero me arse!"

Seamus' freckled faded by the indignant flush that bloomed upon his cheeks.

"You think him a hero, do ya? It's glad I am that he's dead! He kidnapped our Minister! And for what, to further his own agenda? Hero, indeed!"

Padma shot Seamus a look of disapproval.

"Everyone forgets so quickly all the good he has done!"

The tension in the cellar had thickened so much it was difficult to breathe. The Official stared down at the dead bodies and sighed.

"Do tell me, Ms. Longbottom, why Blaise Zabini would want to hurt you?"

Hermione felt stunned at the question and her tired mind could not quite keep up.

"I am Neville's wife; he wanted Neville to…he used me so that Neville would willingly abandon his Ministry post. He knew that if it came down to it, Neville would have chosen his family."

The silence that followed was broken by Draco's raspy voice.

"He hated me; he hated that I would not join him during the war. We were both secret sympathizers to the Muggle born cause. Until his obsessions took over. Then he turned on those who were just like him."

Ginny took in a breath.

"He became just like Voldemort."

No one said anything after that. But when Hermione moved to join her friends the purple-clad Official stopped her.

"Ms. Longbottom, I'm afraid that we cannot let you move from here until we have dealt with the grave accusations."

Hermione stared at the man, stricken. She had seen his face as she had passed him in the Ministry halls. She had known he was a colleague of Neville's – one of many she had not taken the time to know.

She had been his equal – at one time. And now…

Hanging her head, she nodded and took strength in the fact that Ginny had taken her hand and squeezed it. The Official had all but forgotten Hermione then.

"Take these bodies from the room," he ordered those around him. "We will give them a proper burial."

Then he moved towards Pansy and Draco.

"Are there more of you?" he demanded.

Draco remained silent and Pansy glared up at him defiantly. The Official remained unemotional.

"I wager there are," he muttered darkly. "Our Minister was a weak man, sympathetic to your cause, wasn't he?"

Only silence answered him and finally he gave up.

"No matter, you will tell us what we need to know in time."

When he turned, Ginny stood in his way.

"Wait to punish everyone until Neville awakens. He is still the rightful Minister; he was coerced into giving up his post. You can't punish Hermione until you hear his side of things."

The Official smiled slowly as he gazed down at Neville's immobile body. The man looked as good as dead.

"Fair enough," he said.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Hermione sat stiffly on the covers of her unmade bed. She hadn't bothered to make it in days; she had completely let herself go.

_What's happened to me? _

She had returned home the day of Blaise and Dean's deaths and had not left since except to meet briefly with the Ministry, her friends and to visit St. Mungo's.

Neville had not awoken from his magically-induced coma. The Healers were at a loss over what to do and the Minister lay in repose hour after hour and day after day.

_When will Neville wake up? Will I never have my life back? And what about Draco?_

Those that had taken over the Ministry during Neville's possibly lengthy absence were those who had wholeheartedly supported Blaise. They had quickly taken Draco and Pansy in for questioning; Hermione hadn't seen them since. She had heard from Ginny several days later that they had finally broken Pansy; the remnant of Death Eaters hiding out in the Irish orphanages had been captured and sent to Azkaban. In exchange for the information Pansy had been released.

_I can't imagine the guilt she must be feeling!_

But now what? Would the Ministry no longer need Draco? Would they, too, be sent to Azkaban because he had nothing to offer to those who sought revenge over Blaise's death? Hermione's heart couldn't bear the thought. No matter how torn she was, deep down her heart belonged to Draco Malfoy and wherever he went she would follow.

So how could she-?

The door to her bedroom opened and Leo walked in, watching his mother warily.

"Mama?"

She didn't answer, too stricken to speak. Leo didn't know it but she had spent every night since _that_ day watching her son sleep, unable to do so herself in fear that someone would return and try to take him from her once more.

"Mama, can I axe you a question?"

Hermione's eyes watered.

"Anything, my love."

Leo hadn't asked too many questions; he had been uncharacteristically quiet though Hermione could not blame him for it. And at night he had been plagued with dreams about the 'bad men'.

"Mama, did the bad men take daddy?"

Hermione reached to run her hands through his thick auburn waves.

"No," she whispered. "You know daddy is at St. Mungo's."

"Will God take daddy?"

"Where did you get that idea?"

"James, Lily and Albus got their daddy taken away by God."

Hermione pulled her son close and he allowed the embrace, holding her as tight as he could.

"Your daddy is going to be just fine."

She knew no matter what, it would be true.

"Mama, da bad man said my borned daddy is a no good bassard deaf eater."

Leo's voice was muffled but the declaration froze Hermione's heart. Her fingers grew icy cold as they stroked her son's back.

"Leo, you can't talk like that," she whispered in shock.

"Mama, is it true? Why would he say dat? Lily has Say Mouse as a borrowed daddy but he not a def eater. Why is my borned daddy one?"

Hermione pulled away from Leo.

"Listen to me," she ordered firmly. "Your father is a great man and you can't ever-"

Leo was crying.

"I was mad, Mama. I was mad at daddy and I wished he goes away and now God is gonna take him, isn't he? I didn't mean it! I wan Daddy!"

Hermione tried to soothe him.

"Why were you mad, love?"

"I heard you yellin and I heard daddy yellin. I was so mad! But I didn't wan him to go away!"

Hermione could do nothing but hold her son as he sobbed helplessly.

"I'm sowwy, Mama. I don't want God ta take Daddy."

He sobbed into his mother's shoulder as she rocked him back and forth.

* * *

><p>Two weeks after Blaise Zabini's death Hermione saw Draco again for the first time. All the time apart, the worry about Neville, about what was going to happen to her when she faced the Ministry – all of it – had worn heavily on her heart and not even seeing Draco eased the burden completely.<p>

It did not help that now Hermione and Draco had to face the reality that sooner or later they would have to tell Leo the truth about his parentage. Blaise had already planted the seed of doubt in the young boy's mind.

"He already understands the difference, Draco. He knows that Lily, Albus and James had a different birth father. He knows that Neville isn't his real father; he calls him his borrowed daddy."

Draco's fists were clenched.

"Still, he's only known Neville, hasn't he?"

"But he likes you as well and I don't want to lie anymore. Nothing good ever came from my lies."

Sighing, Draco moved to join her on the large sofa in the austere living room.

"I know you hated lying about Leo, didn't you? He's the best thing that's ever happened to us."

He reached to clasp his cold hand with Hermione's. She could not disagree and the two sat in silence.

* * *

><p><em>One month later<em>

Neville slept on, surrounded by his closest friends and his tiny family. Leo stood next to him, stroking his hand like he had done each time he visited. Hermione stood behind her son, sadness having claimed her cold, divided heart.

A heavy tension blanketed the hospital room.

"It's been months," said the Healer with a sad shake of his head. "I've tried everything and I reckon without the will to live on he may never-"

Hermione's bleary eyes closed.

"Don't say it," she whispered. "Please."

And even though she prayed that Neville awaken, when her eyes opened, she still gazed upon her unconscious husband. The Healer said no more, much to Hermione's gratefulness.

_You're free, Hermione. Free…_

Neville had whispered those words to her, his grip in her hand so many weeks before that one. How could she move on with her life, how could she be free if she couldn't tell him good-bye? What if she never saw him smile again?

_How can I do this?_

She knew who her heart belonged to but that didn't mean that she would just forget Neville.

_Why can't you wake up? Why can't you say good-bye? Why can't you tell Leo you love him? _

Hermione's heavy heart wept.

Her despairing thoughts were broken suddenly by the sound of the Healer's voice.

"There's nothing more we can do here, Hermione. In two days' time he is being transferred."

Hermione sat up stiffly, her eyes watering. She fought with anger and frustration.

"W-where?" she choked out.

"I'm told back to The Memorial Clinic."

"C-Cardiff? How could anyone…I cannot take him-"

"But I can, Hermione. It's where he wants to be and I can be there with him."

When Hermione turned she saw Pansy framed in the doorway.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Leo met Pansy at St. Mungo's two days later. The bed that Neville had lain in all those weeks was now stripped bare of blankets and sheets. The room had been cleaned and disinfected and Hermione walked towards the window carrying two suitcases of Neville's belongings.<p>

"This-this should get him through for awhile," she whispered and Pansy nodded with a thin smile. She was wearing a long, black traveling cloak and a hat that swathed her face in shadows. But Hermione knew Pansy's smile was genuine.

"Thank you."

The raven-haired woman knelt by Leo's side.

"Would you like to say good-bye?"

Leo nodded, his lips trembling.

"You will take care of my borrowed daddy?"

"The best of care, I promise."

"And I can see him when I axe Mommy?"

"You can," Pansy vowed a second time.

"I love him."

"I think everyone loves him."

There was a silence and then Leo put his hand in Pansy's to be led back to Neville. Hermione watched wondering how it was possible that her son was now holding the hand of a woman that she had once believed was the devil. How life changed – this had been proven time and time again.

Hermione knew that no one was the master of their life – her own life was the perfect example.

She would not recall those last few details. She would only remember later the way Leo had clung to Neville, the sound of his little sobs. She would remember the tender way that Pansy had held his hand. And the slight scent of musk and ginger when she had leaned down to kiss Neville's cool cheek. She moved mechanically, her heart cold and weary, and she did not recall until much later how much pain her freedom would cost her. And how much she had yet to pay for Blaise's death.

Hermione would have to tell Leo the truth. He had already lost one father and she could not lie to him any longer.

"Mama," he whispered many hours later, after Pansy and Neville had left the hospital.

"Mama," he whispered as Hermione shifted on the bed where she had taken to resting her eyes and holding her son so that he would not have bad dreams.

"Yes, love?"

"Mama, who is my borned daddy?"

She couldn't answer her son's question – not now. Not yet – not until morning.

* * *

><p>Morning came and Ginny arrived to stay with Hermione. Her heart was heavy as she saw the pain in her son's eyes. She felt the endless guilt over Neville and the all-consuming loneliness without Draco at her side.<p>

Yes, it seemed like it would be a most ordinary day.

But it wasn't.

The Ministry arrived just after dinner was cleared and Leo was heading out play at Ginny's insistence. Hermione stood framed in her doorway, watching as they moved up the grassy incline.

"Hermione Longbottom?"

"Yes," said she, her voice wooden.

"You are officially charged with the murder of war hero Blaise Zabini. You will need to give yourself up to us and we will take you in."

Hermione felt odd – like a shell of the woman she could have been. She heard her son's outcry and she heard Ginny's tearful voice telling him to be calm.

She moved slowly towards the group of Officials, like a woman headed towards the Gallows. She had risen from the ashes of her blood status to become the wife of the Minister. She had lied. She had loved the enemy. And now she had fallen once again, perhaps lower than she had ever fallen before.


	77. Chapter 77

_So this is it! Wow, just about a year and a half later. This is the final chapter and it moves quickly in short bursts, trying up all those things (I think) are important. I hope you enjoyed the story and if you did, please, by all means, let me know. I welcome all comments. Look for something new coming soon! I'm just trying to work out the details so I don't go into it…blindly, lol! Enjoy and review! _

_L Cailan_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione did not move from the large front stoop she stood on. Something inside her battle-strengthened heart would not allow her to cower yet again. She had spent too many years, too many moments giving in to what others wanted from her.<p>

"I did not murder Blaise Zabini."

"If that is the case then why has no one stepped forward to confess? Surely they know that you will be put on trial for such a heinous crime, no? Why would they allow that? Why would they not spare you what is to come?"

Hermione's face remained passive and her expression without emotion. No one would ever be able to tell of the war that raged within her. The nameless Official watched her with a mild curiosity.

"Who did it, Madame Longbottom, if it wasn't you?"

But Hermione remained silent and unmoving, refusing to say anything. She had already decided that she would never tell what had really happened. Draco had saved her once and now she would return the favor.

Calmly she turned to see Ginny cradling Leo. She offered them both a smile.

"Take care of him while I'm away."

There was a strange gentleness in her tone and Hermione surprised even herself because she didn't feel as calm as she sounded.

"I'll see you as soon as I can, sweetheart," she said to Leo, pressing her lips firmly against the softness of his hair. "I promise."

She squeezed Ginny's fingers one last time before letting go and turning to face the waiting Ministry. She stepped forward to join them.

_They're using her as an example!_

It was the thought on the minds of many in wizarding London that day. Hermione Granger Longbottom had been arrested for Blaise Zabini's death. The news spread quickly through the Ministry of Magic and then elsewhere.

And instead of Apparating directly to Azkaban Hermione was paraded through the city in an open-air cart like the most common of criminals. She became the symbol for those who had demanded retribution for Blaise's death. She became the symbol of the Ministry's power and proof that Neville no longer held any importance within the British Ministry.

The cart moved slowly through the city streets drawing the attentions of most everyone out and about. Some sympathized and others cared not. Still others yelled and jeered in bloodthirsty fervor.

Hermione sat on the hard, wooden seat, huddled away from the taunting coming in her direction. She felt the way she had that long-ago night when the old Ministry had broken into her flat and taken her away to the alienage. This wasn't much different except that she was alone with no one to share her fears and misery with.

_I'm so scared._

Buildings, streets and people blurred together as the cart moved through the city but soon enough the buildings became spaced further apart and the cart came to a lumbering stop near the outskirts of London. Hermione knew that after England there would be Scotland and she could only guess when the Ministry would cease her pain and humiliation and lock her up in Azkaban. She wondered if she would ever see the light of day again and closing her eyes she began to pray that God protect Leo, Draco and all those others that she had hurt in her life.

* * *

><p>Ginny looked at him, her brown eyes pleading with Draco.<p>

"We don't have much time; they'll be taking her to Azkaban as soon as they're finishing using her as a laughing stock."

Seamus was pacing the room of Draco's small, cramped flat. He had been staying there since the arrest of the other Death Eaters in Ireland. The Irishman paused at the tiny window.

"They won't let her rest none," he muttered. "A sacrificial lamb she is! Sure, the British Ministry has no mercy!"

But then again, it never had and they all knew it.

Draco's gray eyes were wide with concern.

"They won't…they won't give her to the Dementors-"

Ginny was wringing her hands and she spoke in a low voice so that Leo, who was sitting quietly in the other room, would not hear.

"The trial…there will be a trial first, but-"

Draco paled.

"Does she really stand a chance? The Ministry wants to hang her no matter what! They'll crap on even the best defense, won't they?"

Draco's voice was tinged with pain and he hoped that in Ginny and Seamus he could find some solace. There was none to be found.

* * *

><p>Hermione crouched in the wooden cart still as death. She had closed her eyes and her mind from the rest of the world and soon all of it seemed to fade away. She had worried and feared Azkaban and the Dementors in another time and another life but now everything – all the feelings of terror – swept over her once again.<p>

She had felt like this lifetimes before – alone and terrified of what the next moment would bring. Had she learned nothing in all these years? Had she gained no strength? Why couldn't she be brave?

_I'm innocent for Merlin's sake!_

Her mind drifted to Draco, picturing him in those moments she had tucked away in her book of memories. She saw his smile, the way the depths of his grey eyes would glow when he looked down at her. She saw his slender, pale fingers caressing her face and heard his whispered 'I love yous'. He had protected her at the cost of his job, his marriage…everything. Because he loved her – he had loved her in her darkest moments when no one else could have loved her.

Hermione shuddered.

She knew that if she simply pointed a finger in Draco's direction, implicating him as the culprit, the Ministry would release her and arrest him. She knew that she was reviled because she had lain with the enemy. They would judge her; she would never truly be forgiven for doing only what she had needed to for survival. They would whisper about her. The shame of Hermione Longbottom, the wife of the Minister, having behaved like such a whore!

Oh, yes, they would judge her but in the end it was Draco who they hated - Draco and all those left that still bore the Mark. If they had him they would forget her – and all her misdeeds.

Hermione shifted on the hard, wooden bench, feeling her body groaning with discomfort. She knew she could never turn Draco into the Ministry. He had done everything in his power to protect her and now she would do the same.

_But at what cost?_

She couldn't think about it. She couldn't – it would do no good.

Up ahead she could hear the two wizards who had been driving the cart for hours now. They mumbled to one another and Hermione couldn't hear exactly what was said. She gauged that they were annoyed about having to travel by Muggle means. She also knew that there would be hours of travel time in Scotland.

Sighing she stopped straining to hear and tried to clear her mind. The two wizards in front of her continued to talk quietly as they pulled the vehicle to the side of the road.

"I wager I'm a bit peaked, I am."

"Aye, wouldn't mind having a bite myself."

That decided, one of them turned to secure Hermione using magical bindings before they both abandoned her in favor of a small, run-down pub from which could be heard all manner of loud ruckus. Once blessed silence arrived Hermione pulled experimentally at her chains wondering if she could somehow escape. The thought had been in her mind from the beginning.

_I've been through so much worse! How could bloody bindings keep me from escaping?_

But they would. She had no wand and she was secured too closely to the wooden plank on which she sat. Frustrated, Hermione let out a groan and gave up, falling limply back against the walls of her prison. She would have to hope for mercy. She would have to believe that the Ministry was not nearly as prejudiced as she believed it was.

They couldn't put her in Azkaban for something she didn't do, could they? But then again, they had put Sirius Black-

A stealthy thump interrupted Hermione's dark thoughts. She sat up the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

_Thump._

Hermione leaned forward, straining so she could look over the wooden railings of the cart. She saw nothing but her heart began to hammer wildly.

_Thump._

"Hello?" she called out in a near whisper. "Hello, who's there? Please, I-"

What was she thinking? Could her poor heart trust that someone out there was going to help her?

"Hello?"

Hermione glanced around, beyond the street where the light from the pub spilled onto the cobbled walkway.

"Mama?"

Hermione felt her heart stop.

"L-leo? Merlin's bloody…Leo, is that you?"

Tears filled her eyes as she yanked viciously against her bindings wanting to be free.

"Mama, you hafta be quiet!"

Her vision blurred by emotion, Hermione grabbed the wooden planks so hard she felt splinters against her palms.

"Leo-"

That's when she saw them gathered by the cart. Ginny, Seamus, Draco and Leo. Leo was hanging off the side of the cart eagerly trying to clamber up to join his mother. She cried softly with joy.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice was a tearful choke.

"We gonna save you, silly Mama."

Leo's voice was filled with a child's simple innocence. He didn't know how serious Hermione's situation was; he would never need to know.

Struggling once again against her bonds she reached with shaking fingers to stoke Leo's soft curls. The feeling of silky hair against her fingertips made everything all too real.

"They'll be back soon," she managed thickly, her eyes moving towards the rowdy pub. "They only went in for a quick bite."

The others gathered around the cart as Hermione's eyes landed on Draco's pale face. He offered her a smile – one of those smiles – the ones she had loved for what had seemed forever. Flashes of their previous life - the private one, the moments they had shared alone without the rest of the world – overwhelmed her. Despite all the darkness that had enveloped her, Draco had always made Hermione feel that hope still existed.

And now he stood by her side as he had always done. She would love him forever – Hermione had no doubts.

"Draco, if they as much suspect that you had something to do with Blaise's death they'll be no stopping them," she whispered but he only shook his head.

"They won't."

Moving quickly the two men unlocked the latch of the cart and climbed in. Seamus quickly dissolved her magical chains and Hermione fell into Draco's arms gratefully, pressing herself against his coat, breathing in the familiar scent that had many a night lulled her to sleep. She was shaking with obvious relief and Draco patiently held her until she was still.

Gathering her wits about her, Hermione pulled away.

"Let's hurry."

It was a reckless thing they were doing; each of them knew it in the back of their minds but none of them would risk Hermione facing a trial – especially a trial before a Ministry that was prejudiced against her past deeds. And though it was unspoken they all knew that Hermione would no longer be able to live in Britain. But saving her was more important than having her near.

As long as she was alive…

Quickly, Hermione pulled her son close to her and kissed him on the forehead. He hugged her tightly and then the group clasped hands. There was a rustling of the breeze and they were gone with a 'pop'.

* * *

><p>The <em>Daily Prophet<em> was the first to put out the headline.

_Witch charged with Zabini murder Escapes Ministry_

They stared down at the offensive headline and Seamus scoffed at it.

"Rubbish paper," he muttered angrily.

Hermione stood in the corner of the room, huddled next to Draco and her son, wearing a long, black traveling cloak. Her eyes seemed bright in spite of the shadows created by the heavy hood. It had only been six hours since Hermione's escape and already she was 'at large'. She was a fugitive from the Ministry law and every publication in London had her face splashed across its headlines. They had Apparated into Ireland where the Ministry, though well informed of her escape – was not yet on high alert.

But this would only buy them a bit of time.

Hermione knew she would have to run from the Ministry once again. It was a surreal realization for she was the Minister's wife – she held the highest position within an organization that wanted to see her rot in Azkaban. She was sure there had never been such bitter irony.

Long moments of stony silence stretched between the small group and even Leo remained uncharacteristically silent.

"They'll most likely be watching the Floo," Ginny said softly walking towards Hermione, Draco and Leo. "Muggle means would be safest even though it might take longer. Seamus bought you train tickets."

She handed Hermione a long envelope.

"He also pulled some strings and came up with papers for you," she continued to whisper, "in case someone asks you to identify yourselves."

Hermione gripped the envelope too overcome with uncertainty to speak.

"And don't forget your disillusionment charms as soon as you get to the train station."

Another silence followed but Hermione was unable to keep silent any longer.

"What about you? What about the fact that I might never be able to come back?"

She gripped Ginny's hand with the one that was free. Tears filled her eyes.

"Hermione, as long as I know you're safe I'll find a way to see you," Ginny whispered.

"Aye, we all will," Seamus added firmly.

Hermione glanced up at him uncertainly.

"But-"

"Hush, not buts," replied Seamus. "Family is family no matter where they be."

Then he glanced at Draco, sticking out his hand to shake firmly. An understanding had passed between the two men; Hermione had been their reason for a truce. In fact, Draco believed that Hermione was his reason for anything. Life without her had been impossible; life with her was what he wanted, no matter what lay before them.

"I'll take care of her," Draco promised.

Ginny hugged Hermione tightly.

"This isn't good-bye," she whispered against the brunette's ear. "You remember all those other times we've said good-bye, don't you? We always found our way together again. You're my sister; you're my family and I will love you all my days."

Hermione's tears slipped down her cheeks silently.

"I love you too, Gin. You and the children and, oh! Give them kisses for me, won't you?"

Ginny smiled through her own tears.

"Everyday, I promise."

Seamus looked towards the window at the coming dawn. The sky was beginning to lighten just slightly. The mood began to darken, becoming more anxious.

"We don't have much time," Draco said. "There won't be any telling what kind of search there will be for Hermione if she isn't gone soon."

Ginny and Seamus nodded and quickly they said their good-byes once more, kissing Leo on his head as he slept in Hermione's arms.

Hermione looked at her family somberly.

"As soon as I can, I'll send information," she determined.

Ginny offered a brave smile at first to Hermione and then she leaned up to give Draco a hug.

"We'll be waiting," she murmured with hope.

* * *

><p><em>One Month Later<em>

The sun shone brightly, dancing along the clean, white walls of the Medical Memorial Clinic. Here, near Neville Longbottom's quarters, all was silent. That was how it had been from the moment he had been brought here – all his staff and those whom had loved him waited with anxious and hopeful silence for a change in his condition.

But the British Minister slept on, oblivious to the hopes of those that lived in the waking world.

At first the staff at the Clinic, led by Luna Lovegood, had not taken to Pansy Parkinson at all. She was, after all, one of the scorned – a Death Eater. No one had understood why she would be the one, of all people, to return Neville to his home. Much to Pansy's relief however, they hadn't asked questions. Perhaps that was because Luna had never seemed the confrontational type. So Pansy settled into a sort of half-life.

She spent most of her time at the Clinic, checking on Neville each morning, noon and night. She would sit at his bedside, reading to him sometimes or just gazing out of the window in silence. In those silent moments she would ruminate over the few brief conversations she had shared with him wondering how one man had touched her so deeply with only simple conversation. In the afternoons when it would get busier she would help change his sheets, his clothing and clean his room. And in the evenings she would make sure he was still as he had been earlier in the day. She hardly ever saw his staff though often times she would glimpse Luna sitting by Neville's bedside much the same way as she, herself, did.

Though it seemed futile that he ever wake up, Pansy had not given up hope that one day she'd be able to speak to him again. Each day brought the same, comfortable routine.

The skeptics around her who had been so cold begun to thaw a week after Neville's sudden return. After all she was harming no one and certainly a woman who doted so much on one man must have cared deeply for him. They soon adapted to her presence and after two weeks' time Pansy began to feel them warming up to her. Luna was no friendlier than before but at least she was no longer icy cold. Soon, however, even she began to rely on Pansy and value her opinions – if they were offered.

Even in Cardiff, amongst those who had thought her the enemy, Pansy Parkinson became a silent leader.

She took all this silently and with humbleness, concerned only with Neville's well-being. As he slept on Pansy had realized that in caring for him and in coming to Wales at his side, she had gained a purpose. She had a reason to live now, which, in all her years with the old Ministry had never been true. Pansy only hoped that one day she would be able to share this truth Neville. Would he understand? Could he even fathom the possibility that someone like herself might care for him? Certainly he was much too good; she was too flawed. He was a good, righteous man deserving of much more than he had ever been blessed with.

Hours had turned into days and days into weeks. Her routine had become as familiar to her as her own reflection. That was until _that _morning, four weeks later, when she found him awake and sitting up, holding Luna Lovegood's hand.

* * *

><p><em>North America<em>

The city was a small one. In fact, it seemed more like a village than a city but the Muggles called it what it was and Draco wasn't going to argue with them. It had a city hall and a winding river by a long name he could hardly remember now but knew Hermione would already know the history of. It had two churches and several quaint eateries and there were less than ten thousand Muggles living there and even fewer witches and wizards. Those who did live there had blended into their habitat quite well. It was a quiet city with old, sprawling houses and verdant trees that lined the banks of the river. It was not rich with energy like London had been but then again Draco wondered if all small cities in the Americas were like this one.

They city was called Independence. It was what most people would have called and All-American city. It had neatly lined sidewalks and friendly folks that were always willing to lend a hand.

They had been there three weeks now – himself, Leo and Hermione, living as the Black family. No one, not even the elderly wizard who had rented them their flat – or apartment as it was called here – a month earlier, suspected anything. Their neighbors, both elderly couples, had welcome them warmly and taken to Leo easily. The little boy was everyday changing and charming those around him with just his smile.

It was a quaint life but it was theirs. He was finally together with the woman he had loved for what seemed like a lifetime and the little boy they had created. The only piece missing was telling Leo who his birth father was but that would happen soon, once they were settled.

Draco knew that Hermione worried. She holed up in their tiny flat most days, reading about Independence, catching up on all those things she had not learned about the United States. She looked into the American Ministry of Magic curious about their rules and the discrepancies between the continents. Draco was glad she was distracted but he knew that it would not last long. At night she slept in fits, tossing and turning, whimpering in her sleep.

She feared what might happen and he felt powerless to help her. All he could do was protect her and love her with all his heart. It was a simple thing even though it seemed impossible. But Draco would not have given up his new life for anything. He would not look back.

* * *

><p><em>Cardiff, Wales<em>

Pansy's heart filled with volatile emotion she had forgotten she could feel. There was inexplicable relief and joy while at the same time a darkening sadness. She could not move from the doorway of Neville's hospital room, watching with a strange curiosity as he smiled, still not letting go of Luna's hand.

"Y-you're…you're finally awake. Merlin's beard I never believed…"

Pansy, violet eyes wide, spoke in a voice that was thin and wavering. At one time she had been the master over her emotions but that was no more.

Neville got up and she thought it surreal that he was walking towards her, finally having let go of the other woman's hand. He offered a smile and Pansy thought he looked the picture of tired beauty. When had she begun to feel like this? Why was this different than her love for Draco? Why did it seem so impossible and yet at the same time drew her in so that she could not resist?

"They…they told me that you…it was you that brought me here. The whole time I was…trapped by Blaise I thought about coming home. I thought about…simpler times and my life here. It hadn't been so bad, you know. I thought I had contributed nothing but being Minister has…it's changed everything. All I wanted was home and it was you…"

Pansy's eyes shone with emotion she could not dream of speaking. Lord, his voice-

"We were worried you might never awaken. Are you well?"

Neville offered another smile and Pansy felt there was something beneath it, something anticipatory. Luna interrupted with a voice that was soft and grating on Pansy's nerves. Whatever Neville might have wanted to say was lost now.

"He woke this morning; the Healers all say he will be fine. We owe you a lot for bringing him here after all that's…happened. Thank you."

Pansy blinked at Luna as the blonde woman spoke and her words seemed sincere. There was an air of finality to that moment. Pansy wondered how she had begun to believe that this would be her new life, in Cardiff, with a man she hardly knew but felt so deeply for.

Neville sighed, reaching out to touch Pansy but she shook her head.

"I'll…I'll get someone to bring up some…food. I'm sure you have much to catch up on and I…"

Neville paused, a questioning look on his dark features but Pansy rushed from the room.

Left with Luna he stood watching the door through which she had run.

He only found out the next day that she had fled Cardiff and left no trace of her next destination.

* * *

><p>It had taken Hermione weeks to feel almost like herself again. The mild weather and quiet little town had served to soothe her mind and soul. That and she had her little family at her side – the very thing she had been missing while being married to Neville.<p>

She spent many hours of her time alone in the small apartment while allowing Draco the time to get to know a son he had never been able to raise. Draco and Leo had gotten along from the beginning and being like this, just the two of them, served only to bond them more closely. Though Leo missed Neville and it had been clear to Hermione that he had shied away from Draco at the start of their new life in Independence, all of that had changed. Now the two of them were forging a true father and son relationship. It warmed Hermione's uneasy heart to see the joy that radiated on the faces of her son and the man she was in love with.

They had decided in the end that it would be Draco who would tell Leo the truth. He would explain who the Death Eaters had been and he would express to Leo how much he loved him and how sorry he was that they couldn't have been together from the beginning. Hermione had no fear that her son, who was much wiser than his nearly seven years, would understand. It would be tough at first, for he was stubborn, but in the end he would understand.

What then, she wondered? Would she and Draco marry? Would they do as they should have a long time ago? Could she even fathom marrying another man after what she had done to Neville?

At night, when the darkness had fallen over the Midwestern town, Hermione would lay awake thinking about what might happen if the British Ministry ever found her. Surely she would pay for all her crimes – including the escape from London. They would never have sympathy; they would never understand the unbreakable bond between her and Draco. She thought about Neville and wondered if he was all right. No news had come from Cardiff; Pansy had not written, called by Floo – nothing. And yet Hermione had not received the inevitable – divorce papers.

She thought about her friends – Luna who had not spoken to her since the revelation that Draco was still alive. Seamus and Ginny surely waited for word from Hermione but she feared contacting them just in case someone was still watching. There would be time for that. And Charlie! She wondered about her old family and how they were doing.

The thoughts that she could do nothing to contact those from her past ate away at her and Hermione did not sleep for weeks. Though they had found a new life Hermione was unable to let go of the ghosts of her old one.

_Marry me, _Draco would whisper in the latest hours of the night, his breath against her ear and his steady, ever so steady, heartbeat against the palm of her hand. She would revel in those words because they had been all she wished to hear for so long. But she could only cry as she listened.

_Marry me. _

_Marry me._

* * *

><p>Ginny and Seamus rushed to Neville's side the moment they heard he had come out of his long coma. Neville received them with a bewildered joy, trying both to rejoice in the fact that he had survived his terrible ordeal and come to grips with the fact that Pansy had disappeared from his life as suddenly as she had entered it.<p>

No one understood his obvious confusion and no one asked him about it.

Where would Pansy go now? Had she not wanted to stay? And where was Hermione? Surely, he could ask that question.

"In the United States," replied Ginny. "She left over a month ago and we have yet to hear from her."

Neville blinked. Gone, just like Pansy – disappeared from his life. These women had saved him only to abandon him and pain flooded him anew, burning through him like wildfire.

"Will she return?"

"Sure, she can't. The British Ministry will arrest her for Blaise's murder. They want to finger someone and she saved Draco's hide, she did."

"She loves him."

The statement wasn't a sad one; Neville knew whom Hermione had always loved. And the hole Pansy had left within him could only be proof that Hermione was not the only he cared for – not anymore. Not that it mattered; Pansy was gone.

"Where is Pansy?"

The question slipped from his lips before Neville could stop himself. It was an odd question, he knew, in light of the situation. It did not fit into the topic at hand. And yet, he couldn't move forward unless he _knew._

"She's gone away," Luna replied uncomfortably. The silence was even more so. "No one knows where."

Neville nodded for there was nothing else to do.

He accepted the hugs and words of joy and relief from his friends. He knew there would be many more besides Seamus, Ginny and Luna. But he yearned not for those who would be there but for those who were gone. He grieved for his lost family. And his heart was not in Cardiff.

* * *

><p>Hermione blinked staring down at Neville's neat penmanship. It had been the only thing- the first thing- that had given her proof of his well-being. He was awake! He was well!<p>

He had signed divorce papers.

Once more she blinked. Her eyes misted over. His signature was till there – bold and even. He had given her freedom. Now, she was truly free to move on with her life. Though her past would always haunt her it was time, wasn't it?

_Marry me._

Draco's whispered words of love sang in her heart. Hermione's fingers trembled.

"Oh, Neville. I'm so sorry."

_Marry me._

Her heart reminded her of the man she had been meant to be with – long before she had loved Neville.

Hermione took a breath. Yes, it was time to make her family whole and this time, forever.

* * *

><p>"You see," Draco said to Leo. "Your mother and I…we loved each other long before we had you. It was this world that kept us apart. She wanted you to be happy and safe; she wanted you to have a daddy when I couldn't be there."<p>

Leo nodded, watching his parents carefully. He had neither expressed his joy or his disappointment when Hermione had told him of her plans to marry Draco. Her son's opinion meant the world to her and she had prayed for days that somehow, Leo would accept that changes in his life.

"The world is crazy," said the little boy.

"It is," Draco insisted. "You have to believe me if I had been given a real choice I would never have left your mommy. I love her very much. As much as I love you, Leo."

Leo's gray eyes shone.

"It's gonna be different, huh?"

"Loads different."

"Can I go visit Da-Neville?" he asked, fumbling over the newfound changes in his familial relationships. Draco never flinched.

"Neville is a great man and you are a lucky boy to know him," he said softly. "Anytime you ask and it is in my means I will make sure you see him, I promise."

Leo remained silent for a just a few moments more and finally nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

Draco and Hermione's eyes met over the top of their son's curly-haired head. In silent joy, their future had truly begun.

* * *

><p>The sun rose high in the sky on the morning of Hermione's wedding day.<p>

Over thirteen years after they had fallen in love, Granger married Malfoy. They broke every rule that had ever been written about Muggle-borns and purebloods. Their love had existed even in a place where hope had died.

As Hermione stood on the hill near the city hall in Independence, holding Draco's hand firmly in hers, she felt a completeness she had never known. Standing by her side was Leo, wearing a dapper gray and red suit. She couldn't remember him looking more handsome – more and more like his father each passing day.

Ginny and Seamus had brought the children. James had grown into a fine young man almost if not as handsome as his younger brother. And Lily would be as beautiful as her mother, her haunting green eyes forever a memory of Harry's existence. Seamus stood as witness alongside Draco, smiling so that his blue eyes twinkled. His hand was wrapped loosely around his wife's, the other resting on the top of her growing belly – Ginny was pregnant with her fourth child and Seamus would be a father for the first time.

This moment, what they were pledging, was right. Amidst all the wrongs in her life, those done to her and those she had done to others, this man, this love, it was right. It was real. It would be one of the things that lasted, no matter what was to come.

Hermione listened to his soft words, felt the firmness in his touch and saw the love that shone in the depths of his eyes. Draco – from the beginning – had been her only reason. Everything she had ever done, everything she would ever do – it would be because of him.

And as they said 'I do' never had they meant anything more.

* * *

><p>Neville Longbottom shocked the staff at the Clinic when he chose to leave one day, two months after his recovery. Some had witnessed him gathering some things from his office and drinking a cup of his ginger tea before bidding them good-bye and limping off with a slow, purposeful gait. A month after his departure Neville offered the Clinic to the city of Cardiff so that the others might still benefit from what he had created.<p>

No one from the Clinic ever saw him again; Neville had determined never to return. Although Cardiff, Wales had at one time been his home, something had changed. Something was missing.

That something missing had a name and Neville had decided he wouldn't let life pass him by. He would find her.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy had married again.<p>

Pansy had not attended the wedding and she hadn't been surprised that Draco's union with Hermione had not been announced. Last she had heard he had escaped to the United States, taking his tiny family with him.

_Good for him._

Life was cruel, it was true. Pansy had loved Draco; her feelings for him would always be complicated. She knew now that it had been futile, all those years wasted on a dream that had no foothold in reality. Now he was truly with the woman he loved and Pansy would be happy for him even if it killed her.

But that didn't mean she would see him, that they would be friends. He had his own life now; she would not interfere.

Deciding where to go after she had felt Cardiff had been the hardest decision Pansy had made in a long time. In the end she chose to return to the home of her youth. She had gone to Scotland to restore her father's house. She had finally accepted the money from her family's lawyer – the money her parents had left her at the event of their deaths. Though Pansy was not wealthy she would have enough to get by, at least until there was a place for her in the new world.

The house held great memories because those were the only ones not tainted by Voldemort and his old Ministry. Those years, though forever gone, would never be erased from the banks of her memory. But she could – and she _would_ – move on. She would restore the home herself; make it as glorious as she remembered it as a child. She would live there and soon enough she would find work. She would make it on her own; she always had.

Friends were hard to come by and in some ways Pansy believed she didn't deserve them but she hoped at some point those from her recent past would at least check in on her. If not, well, there were worse fates, she was certain. And Neville-

She wouldn't dwell on _that_ either. That was over; she had never deserved him.

No, it wouldn't be an exiting life but it would be _hers_ and she would make peace with it.

Pansy stared down at the city paper, gazing at the black and white photo of Draco's beaming face. Yes, one day she would truly be happy for him. But now she had a massive garden from which she had to pull all the weeds and get rid of the pesky gnomes that had taken residence within its confines many years ago. It was a start.

Without another thought, Pansy got down on her knees and began to work, putting all thoughts aside, forcing her body to do the job with determination and vigor. For how long she had been working Pansy would never remember.

All she remembered was hearing his voice again after so long.

_Neville!_

When she turned, knees and hands covered with rich, black earth she looked up to see his smile. Neville leaned down to offer her his hand and she smiled back forgetting the rest of the world and the promise that she would go on alone. She didn't want to, not anymore.

Pansy didn't know what it meant that Neville had found her. She would never know that he had left his life and his home so that they could have a new life…together.

* * *

><p><em>One year later<em>

The letter arrived one afternoon a year after Draco and Hermione had moved into their first home together as a married couple.

Hermione had stayed a few hours extra at the Muggle elementary school where she taught. Grading papers by hand was a tedious process and she had forgotten how much more difficult life was without magic. But she wanted nothing more than the simplicity that teaching offered her.

In fact except for a few annoyances that kept her late after school Hermione loved her life. She was working again, Leo was growing into a fine young boy, Draco was a doting husband and had a job at an American wizarding paper two cities away, and they were expecting another child. He or she would be born that winter.

After so many years of misery, God and fate had offered her bountiful blessings.

It was late afternoon when she came home and found the letter on the foot of a tawny colored owl. That's how she had known it was strictly from someone from the wizarding community. She knew it could only be one of several people and she didn't immediately look down at the postmark.

Ginny kept in touch with Hermione frequently, taking every chance possible to visit with her though there were many miles between them. When she couldn't call or visit she would write incredibly long letters. She heralded the birth of her second baby girl who was called Molly Ann Finnigan. She told stories of growing older and the frustrations of raising a growing family and the challenges of running a growing number of orphanages.

Harry's three children had grown into beautiful young adults and they came to visit on their own volition. They told stories of England, of what was going on and how the orphanages had been a success. Albus had even written letters detailing that the British Ministry had broken ground for a new school for magic though it would no longer be in Scotland. James wrote letters chock full with stories of his first few months at university in France where he would was studying to be an Auror just like his father.

And there were Seamus' letters filled with stories of politics – how prejudice still existed and how Ernie McMillan had been voted in as the new Minister for Magic after Neville had abandoned the post. These were usually addressed to Draco.

Though they were a continent away from the people that Hermione loved she couldn't have felt closer to them.

So when she looked down at the letter in her hand her heart stopped in shock and she gasped. The letter wasn't from Ginny, Seamus or any of the children. Her hands trembled openly. Hermione would have recognized that handwriting anywhere.

_Neville, oh, Neville!_

It had been over a year since she had last word from Neville, after all. He had granted her a divorce without ever speaking to her, silently setting her free. Hermione had hoped that they could salvage some of their past friendship even though she knew that it would have been nearly impossible. Why would Neville have wanted it after what she had done?

But now there was the letter.

Behind her the sun began to set slowly and pulling the precious correspondence to her chest, Hermione rushed to the backyard towards the river bank as quickly as her present condition would allow her. She was already in her sixth month and the coming baby was making her tired.

Once she was alone she allowed herself to stare at the envelope for another second before breathlessly tearing it open. She didn't notice that Draco and Leo were playing a hybrid game of Quidditch and Muggle football. She was aware of only the written words on the page before her.

_My Dearest Hermione,_

_I am sure you find yourself wondering why I am writing. Perhaps too much time has passed for closure between us, I do not know. If that is true, I fully admit it is my entire fault. But all this time, I simply could not find the right words to express my heart. I think of you often and I miss you. I miss Leo terribly and pray for him each night._

_I know you, Hermione. I know you've wondered about me as well. _

Hermione's heart beat weakly within her and she nodded, biting her lip and continuing to read.

_I hope your new life has afforded you many blessings. You deserve them more than anyone I know. I heard you are in America now. The Prophet has recently had many good articles on the botanical research being done in conjunction with the American Ministry for Magic. You would be brilliant at working on projects like that but I am sure by this time you have found work that makes you happy and fulfilled. Belated felicitations on your new marriage; I hope you know I am happy for you. I know you loved me but it would have been wrong of me to hold onto you because you loved someone more. My mistake was not seeing what was there the entire time._

_Hermione, I acted like a fool when you first told me about the things you went through at that disgusting Alienage. I condemned Draco Malfoy simply because of what he was. We cannot take back the things we have done in the past but I want you to know how sorry I am about the way I acted._

_I am doing quite well, actually. Ginny and Seamus' little one just had a birthday; she's one year old. Molly Ann is bloody beautiful, just like Ginny. She's got Seamus' eyes though; no one in the Weasley family ever had eyes that brilliant blue color. Lily and the boys just love doting on her. Charlie and Angelina came in from the coast for a holiday. They've got two of their own boys now in addition to little Roxanne. Their boys remind me so much of Fred and George even though they're still just toddlers! I'm invited there often and when I get together with them its like being with the Weasley family all over again._

For a few moments, Hermione could not continue because her eyes and filled and spilled over, slipping down her cheeks. For a long moment she thought about Ron and all the other Weasleys who were now long gone. It did her heart good to know that though Charlie and Ginny the family would continue to grow and thrive. There could be no better blessing, could there?

_I don't know if you knew (or perhaps you did) but I left Cardiff. I haven't returned to Wales since after waking from the coma. I wager it's been over a year now._

_Pansy Parkinson left Cardiff shortly after I woke. She had been there the entire time I was in that hospital bed and she didn't even give me a bloody chance to thank her! She left this hole in my heart and it made me realize that I couldn't sit around and let life happen to me anymore. I had to take control. You know how I am, Hermione. I went too long without telling you how I felt. I wasn't adamant enough about my feelings for Luna. And then when she was finally ready to return my feelings it was too late and I was a coward and couldn't tell her. She's moved to Cairo; I haven't heard anything else._

_I was afraid I'd do it again, you know, so I followed Pansy after she fled. I wasn't sure why. I thought maybe I'd thank her for what she had done for me. _

_She'd gone to Scotland, a little village in the west. I offered her help restoring her father's house and she agreed. She's a quiet woman but I know you know that. We worked for months on that house and I found comfort in that mutual silence. It brought me to many realizations about who I am._

_Hermione, I married her. It seems mental, doesn't it? But I am happy, for the first time in ages. She looks at me in a way – well, don't be angry at me but – in a way that you never did. With Pansy I am never unsure. Sometimes second chances really are a saving grace. I'm no longer angry about the past, my dear. I am no longer sorry about the way things happened because if there's any truth in this world it is that everything happens for a reason. One thing falls apart so another can come together._

Hermione found herself crying tears of joy.

_I have included our post address. Please, if you and Draco are ever in a traveling mood and come back to Great Britain, drop in, won't you? Pansy misses Draco and I wager you as well for she speaks fondly of you many evenings after we have had supper. And I miss Leo – please don't think I am intruding but I miss him very much. I would love a photograph if you have time._

_I hope this missive finds you well and Pansy and I will be waiting with anticipation to hear from you and Draco. Send my love to Leo and tell him I miss him and hope to see him soon. _

_With much love I remain,_

_Your Neville_

Hermione read Neville's words again and again as the sky began to glow orange with the coming evening. At some point Draco had abandoned his boisterous game with Leo to join Hermione by one of the willows that was growing along the river's edge.

"Bloody married," he whispered his eyes wide with wonder. "I…"

Hermione reached up clasp his hand and allowed him to help her to a standing position. She leaned into him and Draco draped his arms around her waist to rest on her burgeoning belly.

"He's happy," she murmured her voice imbued with joy. "I thought I had ruined everything but now he's…"

She turned her chin up to see Draco's trembling smile.

"Pansy's married," he said more to himself than to Hermione. When he looked down at her his eyes were shining.

"I wanted her to…know what this feels like," he whispered leaning down to capture Hermione's mouth with his for a blissful moment. Hermione ran her fingers along Draco's jaw when they pulled apart.

"Pansy is blessed. Neville was a good husband," she said sincerely. "He was kind and loving, endlessly patient and supportive. His only flaw was that he wasn't you."

Draco sighed, relaxing more in the circle of Hermione's arms.

"I love you, Hermione."

"And I love you," she replied, speaking with all the passion and joy she felt in her heart.

"You know, it's about time we go to Britain on holiday," he suggested. "I think my parents might still own property in Scotland somewhere. Fancy stopping by to visit the Longbottoms?"

Hermione grinned up at her husband.

"Leo's going to be excited."

She offered him a grin.

"Not to mention how you've read my mind. We should go in. I'll Floo Neville immediately."

Draco stopped her, nodding towards the sun that was just being to set along the vast horizon.

"The day isn't done yet," he mused. "But I think all that horrid stuff that's become our past just might be over."

They stood side by side gazing over at the beautiful skyline. Hermione felt a peace she had never known. They watched as the sun sank behind the horizon and the sky turned brilliant shades of red and orange. Hermione watched, leaning against Draco, as the sun disappeared completely.

Soon enough the day ended and the sky began to darken. Night was coming. They stared at the sky. It was crimson with a silver lining.

-Fin-

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><p>"<em>We found love in a hopeless place."<em>

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><p><em>Thanks again, everyone! I can't say enough how much your support has helped me finish this story! I hope you check back occasionally; I have something new in the works. But first I'm taking a bit of a writing break! I'll be back again soon. Thanks and many hugs! I love you all.<em>

_LCailan_


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